


The Memitim

by Stellanti Nocte (lucidown)



Category: Boondock Saints (Movies), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Alternate Universe - World War II, Assassination, BAMF Bucky Barnes, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Steve Rogers, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Friendship, Immortality, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-05 06:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 56,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11572467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucidown/pseuds/Stellanti%20Nocte
Summary: The Memitim - The title is derived from the Hebrew word mĕmītǐm (מְמִיתִים) meaning executioners, slayers, or destroyers, and refers to angels that brought about the destruction of those whom they saw unfit for protection.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *This is a transformative work and I do not own the rights to any Marvel Universe characters.  
> This story is a work of fiction but it contains description of medical experimentation. It's not too bad, but you've been warned. If you don't like it, don't read it.  
> All the cites and locations I mention are real and the historical dates are accurate. However, I have taken obvious liberties with historical fact.  
> I have drawn from a number of literary and cinematic sources as inspiration for quite a few of the scenes. If you think I should add any tags that I haven't, message me!  
> I use German and Russian mostly, along with a smattering of other languages in this story, but as I am not a native speaker of all these languages, I did my best. All of then English translations are included under each paragraph that contains a foreign language. If you have a translation correction, please feel free to message me!

Steve woke slowly, opening his eyes to his pitch black world. He tried to move, but pain lanced through him immediately so he stopped at once. As he regained his senses, he realized that he was laying face-down on his stomach, breathing in the rancid residue that coated the floor; it smelled like death. 

Everything smells like death in this place. 

A steady dripping came from his left, and underneath that was the sound of distant footsteps. The footfalls were becoming more and more distant; he supposed that meant that they were done with him for the day.

There were no other sounds in his tiny cell but his own heart beat and the rasp of his rancid breath. In the early days, he had taken to hitting the iron bars with his nails, just to hear something different, to make a tune. When the futility of it had hit him, he had cried for what felt like days; and it probably had been. He could imagine music all he wanted, try to create it, he could recollect sunny days and picture wide open spaces, but the walls that held him showed no signs of crumbling. 

The only time he got to leave the cell was to go to what he assumed was a medical lab of some sort, but even then he was always unconscious. The guards always knocked him out with an injection before they took him out of the cell. 

When he'd heard of these places, Steve had always liked to think that if he ended up in one he would be stoic, that his beard would drape the floor before he was broken. Apparently, he wasn't made of strong enough stuff. 

It had only been six weeks…or something close to, since they took Elena off. She hadn't come back and now after six weeks of constant silence, of constant darkness, of constant loneliness, Steve was finally starting to loose it. Sometimes, one part of his brain got talking to another, whispering if he was lucky, yelling if he was not. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, not if he wanted to hold onto some part of his sanity.

Steve pushed himself up very slowly, carefully, so as not to aggravate whatever new injury he now had. He was grateful for the complete darkness in times like this; he never wanted to actually see what they were doing to him. He could feel it sometimes, when his fingertips brushed something wet or cold that had not been there before. He tried not to think about it because he knew for sure that if he dwelt too much, he would lose his mind all the more quickly.

This time, it felt as if they had done something to his ribs. Both sides of his chest were screaming with pain and Steve was sure, if he dared touch, he would feel the wet stickiness of his own blood, maybe even the stringy texture of muscle or the raspy hardness of bone. He grit his teeth as he pushed himself up to his knees and bowed his head. 

"Vater unser im Himmel,  
geheiligt werde dein Name;  
dein Reich komme;  
dein Wille geschehe,  
wie im Himmel so auf Erden.  
Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute.  
Und vergib uns unsere Schuld,  
wie auch wir vergeben unsern Schuldigern;  
und führe uns nicht in Versuchung,  
sondern erlöse uns von dem Bösen.  
Denn dein ist das Reich und die Kraft  
und die Herrlichkeit in Ewigkeit.  
Amen."  
*The Lord's Prayer in German.

He crossed himself and, wincing, sat back against the wall. The cold stone was his only reprieve - albeit minute - from the constant burning pain that accompanied his daily sessions. He swallowed hard and leaned his head back against the wall. Pushing out all thoughts of pain, all situational awareness, his mind went blank and Steve was lost to a semblance of sleep.

~~~

He woke when he heard the metal door scrape open and footsteps grow slowly louder as they moved towards him. Steve tensed; they only ever opened that door to retrieve him. His ears strained to hear which guard was coming for him. Heavy Feet was kinder, allowing Steve to sit down with his back against the bars before he injected him with the sedative. Whistler was not so kind; he seemed to enjoy pulling Steve roughly to his feet and yanking his head to the side before jamming the needle in as hard as he could. When Whistler came, Steve always woke up in a lot more pain than with Heavy Feet.

But the sounds approaching today were different. He could tell it was Whistler because the man was light on his feet, but he seemed to be pushing something in front of him... There was another sound today: it was the same squeaking of the wheelchair he used to collect Steve but it sounded different, as if it were already weighed down with something. Steve failed to put two and two together until the vague shape of Whistler passed by his cell and he finally understood why the man wasn't coming for him; there was already someone in the chair.

Steve strained his eyes against the dark in an attempt to see anything as Whistler stopped the chair, and from the sound of it, used a key ring to open the cell next to his. The wheelchair was pushed into the cell and the unconscious person was unloaded roughly onto the ground before Whistler stepped out and slammed the bars shut, locking the door behind him. He passed Steve's cell, jabbing something viciously cold and sharp through the bars as he passed. He cackled when Steve yelped and scrambled away. The footsteps and laughter got further away until the metal door opened and a sliver of light fell through, vanishing just as quickly when the door was pulled shut.

Steve tried to control his breathing as he listened carefully for any sounds coming from the next cell. That had been her cell, Elena's, before they took her that last time...Steve shook his head to dislodge the thought and sat against the shared stone wall, settling himself carefully to avoid jarring his ribs. 

As far as he could tell, the cells were built entirely out of stone except for the bars at the front. In the first few days, Steve had run his hands over everything and dug his fingers into ever last nook and cranny before coming to the conclusion that there really was no way out. 

As he listened, he found he couldn't quench the overwhelming excitement that threatened to bubble through him. He would never wish this torment, this torture, on anyone but he couldn't deny that he was pleased to have a potential companion once again. 

If the person ever woke up.

So he sat, quiet and listening, for what felt like hours, before he finally heard a low groan. He perked instantly, ears straining as the person started to shift about.

"Wh...wh...w?" a male voice slurred. Coherent speech was always difficult for a while after the sedatives.

So Steve waited a few more minutes before asking, "Sprechen Sie Deutsch?" He was hopeful the man would speak at least one of the languages he knew.  
*Do you speak German?

"Ein bisschen," came the reply.  
*A little.

"English?" Steve tried again.

"Fuck...yes. My German's shit. Sorry."

Steve almost cried with relief; he couldn't imagine any more days without being able to talk to someone. 

"Where are we?"

Steve grimaced, "Nowhere goot."

The man actually laughed and Steve drank in the sound like a man starved.

"Got that, thanks. Nowhere you end up in the middle of a war is good."

Steve decided to go for the truth, as fully as he could give it.

"I do not know exactly vhere ve ahre. I vas aht vun uv der camps vhen der doctor came und selected me. Dey brought me here but I do not know vhere it is ahs I vas unconscious."

He heard the man shuffling before he sighed as Steve assumed he pulled himself to a seated position against his own wall.

"You were in a camp? Auschwitz?" The man's voice was strained and he seemed genuinely concerned for Steve.

"Yah. Not Auschwitz. Kraków-Płaszów. Only for a few veeks or so before der doctor came," Steve shuddered as he always did thinking about the camp. But it had been better than this place.

"But...your accent...you're-"

"Deutsche, yah." Steve leaned his head back, closing his eyes, "I ahm not exactly vhat hitler vould consider 'ahryan perfection'. dey came to my town, rounded up der jews und took me ahs vell. I suppose i too ahm less dan human in deir eyes."

The man scoffed and shuffled a bit. When he spoke, his voice was clearer. "That's bull. Everyone's worth the air they breathe. Simple as that. Just cause you didn' look quite right don't give those assholes the right to decide if you live or die. Don't no one got that right."

Steve smiled a little because that had been pretty much exactly what his mother had told him as he grew, and then stopped growing. On top of his size, his proclivities, as the priest called them, meant that he was singled out for a number of reasons in his young life. His mother told him that everyone was good for something, whether they were big or small; and everyone had a purpose to fulfill. His eyes grew wet with tears thinking of her so he hastily changed the subject.

"Und yourself? Ahmerican, clearly."

The man chuckled, "That obvious, huh? Yeah, I'm American. From New York." He took a deep breath. "My unit...we got hit...most of 'em were killed in the attack. They might've been the lucky ones, honestly." Steve heard his voice catch before he cleared his throat. "Don't know why they didn't just kill me as well and be done with it, but here I am."

"I ahm glad you ahre here," Steve blurted before he caught how that sounded. "Oh! No! I simply - I mean..." He sighed. "I haff been ahlone for a fery long time. It is nice to hear ahnother foice. Dat is ahll i meant."

"I didn't take it any other way. How long you been here, then?"

Steve frowned, thinking. "I do not know exactly. It vas summer vhen I vas in der camp...und dey come to get me vunce a day I dink...maybe three months?"

"Fuck. And you've been alone in here the whole time?"

"No...dere vas a voman. She vas here vhen i ahrrifed but dey took her...six veeks ahgo I dink, und she nefer came back. Her name vas Elena."

Steve heard the man whisper a prayer he didn't recognize under his breath and couldn't hold back the sob that escaped when he heard Elena's name. 

"Dank you."

"We're all children of God. It don't matter what language we speak or religion we hold to. S'all the same under the skin."

"Efen shtill. You did not know her. So dank you."

There was a long silence - the first silence in weeks that Steve had not longed to fill - before the man spoke again.

"I almost don't wanna ask, but it'll drive me nuts if I don't. You said they come to take you every day. And Elena was taken and didn't come back...What do you mean by that?"

Steve had really hoped that they would be able to avoid that question for a while longer. He didn't want to think about it, much less say it out loud...

He swallowed around a suddenly dry mouth, "Vell...der doctor....I do not know much" he sighed but continued, "He told me dat much vhen he picked me aht Kraków-Płaszów. He told me he could make me better dan I vas. I did not like him but it vas not ahs if I vas presented a choice."

"I think I’ve heard of this. Some medical hacks doing experiments on prisoners." The man's voice was just a whisper now. "What’re they doing here?"

"I do not know. Der men come to get me. Dey use a sedatife und I fall unconscious right ahway. Vhen I vake up, I ahm ahlways back, und I ahlways...hurt. It is too dark to see vhat he does but I can feel it: sometimes cold, sometimes vet, sometimes...shticky, but ahlways pain. But, ahs uv right now, I ahm shtill whole.. .ahs far ahs I can tell."

His voice had gotten more and more robotic as he spoke until it sounded as if he were reciting maths equations for Frau Hassen back in school. The man didn't speak for a long time. When he finally did, it was not a question Steve had been expecting.

"Are you hurt right now?"

Steve nodded before he remembered the man couldn't see him, "Yah."

"How badly?"

"Not fery, I do not dink. I do not dink I ahm bleeding ahnymore but I-I find it difficult to touch vhere dey vork...I ahm ahfraid uv vhat I vill feel." 

The man swore colourfully before taking a deep breath. It sounded shaky when he released it and for the first time, Steve could tell that the man was afraid, deeply afraid.

"Vhat is your name?" Steve ventured.

"Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th American infantry. But call me Bucky."

"Vhy?"

Bucky laughed, still shaky, but better, "My middle name's Buchanan. Friends call me Bucky."

Steve smiled. He liked being Bucky's friend. 

"And what's yours, Invisible German?"

Fighting a smile now, Steve replied, "Stephan. Stephan Roeder."

"Stephan, huh? Can I call you Steve?"

"You may. Dat is vhat my mother called me."

Bucky's voice was low, kind, when he asked, "What happened to her?"

"Der nazis shot her vhen she tried to shtop dem from taking me. She vas only trying to protect me." The tears couldn't be stopped this time.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. She's with God now."

Steve was crying in earnest so Bucky let him be. He could hear the other man praying quietly on the other side of the wall and he drew more comfort from that than he had felt in months.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve was taken again some time after that. He had long since calmed down and was resting against the wall, just listening to Bucky breathe. The door opened and Heavy Feet walked down the hall, pushing the empty chair. Steve reacted instinctively to the sound by sitting down with his back to the bars and linking his fingers behind his head. He heard Bucky shuffling around and felt the vibration through the bars as the other man grabbed onto them.

Steve felt oddly touched as the American started swearing at and berating the guard as he made his way down the hall. Heavy Feet didn't even flinch as Bucky shook the bars and yelled. He simply pushed the needle into Steve's neck and deployed the plunger. The last thing Steve heard before slipping into unconsciousness was Bucky's furious screams.

~~~

When Steve woke, flat on his back, the first thing he was aware of was the fast, near-panicked breathing coming from somewhere close by. He took a shaky breathe of his own, only to immediately cried out in pain. 

"What? Steve, come on, talk to me, buddy. What did they do?"

Steve couldn't respond, he was holding his breath as he waited for the pain wave to subside. He couldn't remember who was in the next cell right away, but by the time the pain had died down, he was able to choke out past dry lips, "Bucky."

He heard a loud exhale and a slightly crazed chuckle, "Thought I'd lost you, man. You gonna be alright?"

Steve managed to take a shallow breath, his lungs burning for oxygen. He placed a hand in the middle of his chest to help regulate how deeply he breathed in, but as soon as he did, his eyes widened and he snatched his hand away. His skin felt...flayed. He could feel deep lacerations where they met at the centre of his chest. It felt as though each were deep enough to go all the way down to his rib cage. Now that he was paying attention, he could feel stitches pulling where he assumed the lacerations were. They were pulling all the way down his chest and up across his collar bone. He began to panic, feeling the fear sinking in, quickening his pulse, trying to get him to breathe faster, deeper. He fought. He knew if he let himself breathe too deeply, he could pass out again from the pain. Vaguely, he heard Bucky start talking.

"I was born on March 10, 1917 in Brooklyn. I think that makes me twenty...five now? Anyway, I was born in New York. It was a bit rough where I grew up but that was mostly cause everyone was dirt poor. My Ma's Catholic and my Dad was Jewish so I inherited more guilt than I know what to do with." He chuckled wryly. "My dad fought in the war; the first one anyway, and he could never shake it. He got honourably discharged in '16 and he would never talk about it, but I guess he saw some pretty nasty shit cause he eventually drank himself to death. We still got his pension even after he died so me, my Ma and my sisters managed alright. My littlest sister; her name's Becca. She was twelve when I left. She always kinda looked up to me since I was the only guy she had in her life. I mean, Dad came home and I was born a year or so later, but he never really came home. Becca was only two when he died so she never really knew him. Hell, none of us did...Anyway, my sisters and my Ma pretty much lost it when I was drafted, thinkin' I'd go the same way, but even if I hadn't been called up, I think I would've enlisted, ya know?"

Steve could feel the panic receding to the edges of his mind, but it wasn't gone yet. Thankfully, Bucky was still talking.

"I worked on the docks ever since I was old enough to leave school. Didn't much care for learnin' with books when I could learn with my hands. Worked right up until the day before I shipped out to basic and they sent us here straight after that. My captain figured out that I was a crack shot real quick so he put a sniper rifle in my hand. Didn't take me long after that to work my way up to Sergeant. It was in Azzano, in Italy, that my squadron got ambushed in the middle of the night. The assholes came out of the fuckin' trees, out of the ground. Most of the men were sleeping while some of us stood watch; we didn't stand a chance. Lots of good men died that day...all the rest of us were split up to the camps, and I'm here."

"I ahm sorry ahbout your friends." The panic had vanished almost completely listening to Bucky's smooth, confident voice. He heard the other man sigh with relief as he spoke. "Dat must haff been a nightmare."

"No more so than what you've been going though. Seriously though, Steve, you alright?"

"I do not know," he answered truthfully, "It has nefer hurt quite dis badly before. My body feels ahs dough I haff been set on fire und my chest...I dink-I dink dey cut me quite badly dis time..."

Bucky was silent for a long time. When he did speak again, his voice was filled with deadly rage, "Just rest Steve, try not to move too much. Just rest."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters this week. The first one was short and they work together so here they are. Hope you enjoy! Thanks so much for the comments and kudos so far!

Steve realized that he had it in him to truly, desperately, unfathomably kill someone when Whistler first came to take Bucky. He wanted to do it; he wanted to get ahold of the man and crack the back of his head off the ground, just to watch the blood seep and pool around him. 

He must have fallen asleep, or passed out, at some point because he woke to the sound of the door opening. He heard Bucky get to his feet.

"You kiddin' me?! You fuckers almost killed him just hours ago and now you want more?"

"Bucky..." Steve tried to raise his voice to warm him but Bucky either didn't hear or didn't care, he just kept yelling. Whistler stopped outside of Steve's cell, peering in with his flashlight to check where he was. He pulled the _coldsharp_ thing out and jabbed Steve in the arm with it, the closest piece of him he could reach. Steve moaned, trying to move instinctively away from the door. He sobbed brokenly and heard Bucky quiet and still in his cell. Whistler had gotten what he wanted. He spoke to Bucky.

"Sie kämpfen, er leidet. Verstehen?" It was the first thing Steve had heard Whistler or Heavy Feet say and it was not comforting.  
*You struggle, he suffers. Understand?*

Bucky understood. And whatever happened next, the result was that something heavy fell to the ground, the cell door opened, and a moment later, Whistler was dragging something - Bucky - out and into the chair before wheeling him away past Steve's cell. Steve moaned and curled himself into the fetal position. He couldn't lose Bucky as well, he knew it would be the thing that finally forced his mind to snap. He wouldn't survive much longer after that; wouldn't want to if he was alone again. He was in such a panic, he didn't even notice that his chest was not hurting nearly as much, and that he had curled up in a ball without feeling anything stronger than a sharp ache.

~~~

Whistler brought Bucky back much later than Steve expected. He had been trying to accept that the man wasn't coming back when the door opened and Steve heard the chair squeaking its way back down to the cells. He waited until Whistler had left again before he leapt to his feet, barely wincing at the ache in his ribs, ecstatic that his friend was back.

"Dank god! Bucky, vake up, please vake up. You vill be ahlright now."

Minutes passed and Steve began to worry again. Elena had never been out this long after they returned her. But then, Bucky whimpered. Steve let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding and sank down to lean his forehead against the wall. He recited the Hail Mary aloud before silently giving thanks to every Angel and Saint of protection he could think of.

"Bucky. Come on, der more you fight it der faster it vears off. Just fight, Bucky." He kept talking to him, encouraging him through the worst of the sedative, until finally, Bucky groaned, a more normal noise, and moved about a bit, swearing as he did.

"Vhat? Vhat did dey do?"

A small, broken laugh - or maybe not - and Steve finally heard Bucky take a normal breath.

"Not sure. Can't see. Like you said. Hurts like a son of a bitch though. All across and down my chest, my ribs mostly."

Steve nodded, "Dat sounds like vhen I came back der last time. Listen, bucky...you do not haff to comply because uv me. Please do not gife in just because you ahre ahfraid I vill get hurt. I haff been hurt. I can deal vit it. If you fight, you might haff a chance to escape."

"Not going anywhere without you, pal. Couldn't live with myself even if I could get out. And from what I can tell, there is no getting out of here in our condition."

Steve bit his lip. He had noticed his lack of pain sometime ago, trying to calm himself while he waited for Bucky to return. He could hardly feel a thing anymore, and he was still too afraid to actually touch the wounds, but he had a feeling if he did, they would be almost, if not completely, healed.

"Vell...ahbout dat..." he heard Bucky hiss as he must have moved again but he knew the man was listening, "I ahm not hurt ahnymore."

"What?" Bucky asked, "How is that possible?"

"I do not know. But vhen dey took you, he jabbed me und I curled up, not something I could haff done efen a few hours ahgo. I vas shtanding just now vhen he brought you back, und right now, I do not really feel much uv ahnything."

"Whatever they're tryin' to do to you must be working. Small miracles, I guess," Bucky said, but his voice was laden with concern.

"Bucky, you must tell me if ahnything changes. If pain goes ahway...or shtarts too quickly, tell me. Vhatefer dey haff been doing to me might haff vorked...but I do not know if dey ahre doing der same to you. Ve haff a chance uv figuring out vhat dey ahre doing if ve talk...it might help... ahlso...I haff been doing dis ahlone for too long now und I do not vant to ahnymore."

Bucky was quiet for so long that Steve was afraid he might have passed out again. "Don' worry Stevie," his voice was slurred with pain and exhaustion when he finally spoke, "not alone anymore."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter. Explanation really.

Weeks passed this way; at least, they figured it was weeks by the amount of times the guards came to take them both. It seemed that they now took each man at least once every day so that became the best method they had to monitor the passage of time. They prayed together every time one of them came back alive. 

One day, Bucky commented on the fact that the guards never brought them any food or water and Steve explained his theory that they fed and hydrated them intravenously each time they took them. It would be easier and probably less time consuming for their captors.

For the first weeks, every time Bucky was brought back, he was in agony, first in his chest, then arms, legs, back, head. Steve could sympathize. It had all been done to him. They spoke in depth about what each had experienced during each procedure and they were relatively certain that whatever had been done to Steve, they were trying to replicate it with Bucky.

After that last operation, Steve woke up feeling less and less each time, and never again with the excruciating pain he had grown accustomed to. Each time he woke, his body felt strange, aching and new. He felt different in general. Every time he stood up, he got the strangest sensation that he was just a bit higher off the ground than he had been the day before. Not only that, but whenever he accidentally touched his own body these days, he felt as if he were a lot bigger than he had been before. He felt like he took up a lot more space in his cell than he used to. When he mentioned this to Bucky, the other man admitted that the same thing was happening to him. He had been a stocky guy, not small by any means, but not big. Yet, he said he was feeling bigger, taller as well. Neither man knew what to make of the new developments.

Then came the day Steve stopped feeling pain entirely. He panicked for a short while, trying to listen as Bucky tried to convince him it was a good thing, that he would be able to recover faster from the operations and he wouldn't have to actually feel what they did anymore. He was right, but Steve couldn't help but think that this was just one more step away from normal, away from human, that he was being forced to take. 

The week after that was bad: Steve couldn't hurt anymore, but Bucky could. It didn't matter that neither of them had asked for this, that it wasn't Steve's fault he couldn't feel the procedures anymore; what mattered was that he couldn't share Bucky's pain anymore and they both knew it. Whatever was done to one was done to the other at that point, and whenever Bucky was sobbing, gritting his teeth as he fought to stay conscious, Steve was no longer feeling it with him. All he could do was kneel in his cell listening to Bucky moan and sob, his forehead pressed to the wall, and pray for his friend's pain to end. Finally, after six days of watching Bucky struggle and close off from Steve little by little, the Doctor evidently decided it was enough. When Bucky came back the next time, the pain was gone. He lay on the ground and cried with relief, listening to Steve alternate between praying for thanks and whispering reassurances to him through the bars.


	5. Chapter 5

The voice came out of the haze; slow and far away. Steve could hear it and feel people moving around him, objects clinking and machines whirring. He was laying on his stomach on a cold table. His arms were strapped out on either side of him and his head was being held immobile. 

What is going on? Where am I? Where is Bucky?

“Bereit?"   
*Ready?

This was not said to Steve. The heavily accented German came from Steve's left, above him, and Steve froze. He knew that voice. That voice that had so kindly introduced itself when Steve had been standing in line with other prisoners. It was the voice of The Doctor. 

Steve tried not to move, The Doctor didn't seem to know that he was even conscious at the moment and Steve didn't want to be the one to give that information away. His eyes were closed - he didn't know if they would see if he opened them - but his ears were wide open. Something had gone wrong: the sedative that had successfully knocked him out for hours at at time, every day for...he didn't even know how long anymore, had apparently failed to keep him under for more than...a few minutes maybe? It didn't feel like they had even started yet. Steve didn't know or care what had happened but he was going to take this opportunity to learn as much as he could. Someone must have nodded in response to the question, because people started moving around him. 

“Herr Bratman?”

“In der tat sind wir,” another voice off to Steve's right answered The Doctor.  
*Indeed we are.

“Anfang der einspritzung: fünf… Vier… drei… zwei… eins…”  
*Injection beginning: five...four...three...two...one...

Pinpricks erupted all over Steve's back, arms and legs; he felt the needles pierce his skin and it didn't hurt, but Steve knew that it should have. 

Pump, pump, pump. Steve wanted desperately to see whatever was going into him; all he knew was that it felt remarkably cold. No...hot. It felt hot…and, cold again. His skin felt tight, like it was being stretched much further than should have been possible. A strange itchy, tingling sensation was beginning to shoot through his body, getting worse and worse and making him more and more uncomfortable until--

He felt an increasing pressure against the back of his neck and both of his arms at the same time. It distracted him sufficiently from the itching. He felt his skin split first in his arms and then at his neck before the flesh was separated and pulled far apart. Someone had attached clamps to the incision at his neck and he could feel two fingers rooting around and pressing on various spots along the top of his spine. It made parts of his body go completely numb, before involuntary twitches erupted in those same spots whenever the fingers moved and prodded a new area. 

"Die neueste stahl offenbar auf bis die knochen," the voice attached to the fingers buried in his right arm reported.  
*The newest steel appears to be taking to the bone well.

"Und die kranialen Implantat an Ort und Stelle ist und ausgeführt wird. Wir sollten sie nicht nochmals einstellen," the fingers in his spine said next.  
*And the cranial shunt is holding and live, Sir. We shouldn't need to adjust it again.

"Ausgezeichnet. Dies wird die letzte sein, die wir brauchen. Fünf weitere verfahren und können wir mit seinem gehirn beginnen. Für jetzt beginnen wachstumsstimulation."  
*Excellent. This will be the last we need. Five further procedures and we can start with his brain. For now, begin growth stimulation.

The fingers and forceps were removed, his skin was put back into place, and the footsteps moved away from the table. There was a click and suddenly, the sun had found its way into the room with Steve. Everything was too bright all at once and even from his face-down position, he had to shut his eyes against the blinding light. Even still, it pierced through his lids and left him feeling dizzy.

Bright, brighter, brightest. It was too much, it was too bright, too much...

Inexplicably, it kept getting brighter and brighter, until it started getting hotter, and hotter, and hotter, leaving his body thrumming, vibrating. It was hot, it was too hot, too fucking hot, and he was burning from the inside. His blood, it was starting to boil in his veins. He was dying. Was he dying? Did death feel like this? He could barely form the thought because there was steam in his lungs and molten lava under his skin; it pumped through his arteries and then...he was burning, everything was burning, everything was ripping. He was being pulled apart. All this, and it still didn't hurt. It was too bright, it was too fucking bright, and it was uncomfortable and unthinkable beyond anything he had ever felt but it didn't hurt in any way he could remember pain feeling. It was more like a horrible itch under the skin that absolutely could not be reached no matter how hard you scratched. It kept getting worse and worse and worse until he felt as if he were on the verge of losing his mind.

Suddenly, it was gone.

He was suspended in cool nothing, floating away from awareness as even the ghosts sensation vanished completely. He felt only exhaustion.

The metallic whirring sound was back and the needles that were still embedded deep all over his body were finally withdrawn.

Everyone started talking all at once and Steve was yanked forcibly back into the here and now. Everything was way too loud for Steve’s ears. He tried to breathe slowly, pulling air in until he was left dizzy by much oxygen his lungs could hold. It went to his head and he felt light, no longer aware of or caring what was going on around him anymore.

"Ausgezeichnet. Die DNA modifikationen waren ein erfolg. Sie sind immer noch die heilung auf der gleichen ebene. Ihn wieder nehmen. Wir können in einem anderen zwölf stunden fort."  
*Excellent. The DNA changes were a success. They are still healing at the same level. Take him back. We can continue in another twelve hours.

They took his blood, vials and vials of it. Way more than should have been possible. He just lay there; vaguely aware that the amount they were pulling from his veins would make other person weak, dizzy. In fact, he felt perfectly fine; he could hardly feel the prick of the needle. This, he thought as he lay there, his brain struggling to work normally, was more evidence that he wasn't exactly normal anymore, and hadn't been for a long time. As they continued to pull blood from his body, he finally understood that he probably wouldn't be normal ever again.

After a long time, during which he could hear the occasional click of a camera and the excited chatter of the medical team, Steve was unstrapped from the table. He was rolled onto his back - he made sure to keep his eyes closed and fact slack - before a pair of strong arms went under his armpits and pulled him roughly into the waiting wheelchair. He let his head loll forward onto his chest so that he could risk opening his eyes just barely to take in his surroundings. He was being wheeled down an empty, sterile white hallway towards a metal door at the far end. The lights were too bright and there was too much dust floating in the air, making everything look like an overdeveloped photograph. The hallway was empty so there was nothing for him to focus on.

But he could focus on his body. It hadn't really occurred to him in his cell, when all he could do was feel the changes that his body was going through, but now he could see that he was well and truly different. 

Through his squinted eyes, he took in his arms in shock, seeing the thickness of them, the way his hands were suddenly proportional to the rest of his body. His legs were bare under the thin hospital gown and they were massive. Whereas before, his thighs had always been compared to skinny little tree branches, breakable and thin, now they were trunks, thick and corded with muscle. The hospital gown and his limited view prevented him from seeing much more of himself but he could see that even his chest was much wider than it had been before.

Before Steve could get over the shock, they stopped outside the door and Whistler walked around him to unlock it. Steve closed his eyes again just in case and didn't open them again until he was flat on his back in his cell, listening to Heavy Feet's steps get further and further away.

"Steve?" Bucky asked a few minutes later, "you with me, buddy?"

Steve swallowed, unsure of how to relay all of what had happened, all he had learned, to the other man. 

"I ...I need some time vit dis vun, Buck. I need some time."

A shaky breath was released but Bucky didn't press him. He never pushed for details and Steve couldn't be more thankful for it in that moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a bit more serious non-consensual body modification. It's not that bad, but here's the warning.

"He said the words 'DNA modifications'?"

"Yah."

"And...what did they say about your bones?"

Steve sighed, they'd going over his waking experience in the medical lab for so long he figured Bucky should have it memorized by now. 

"Dat der newest shteel vas taking vell to my bones. Den der vun prodding ahround in my neck said dat der cranial shunt vas holding und life. Dey failed to mention vhat it did."

"Jesus..." Bucky shifted restlessly. They hadn't come to take him yet and Steve could hear in his voice that he was more anxious than usual for when they did. "I mean...we knew they were doing something to us but...they actually changed our DNA?"

Steve had himself propped up against the wall once more, the cold of it felt nice against his overheated skin. He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the sound of his friend breathing; still breathing.

Bucky clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as Steve knew he did when he was thinking hard. "They must be jacking up the dose they give us each time we get picked up. I mean, we've both been getting bigger, stronger; they'd need a higher dose every so often. They must not have jacked it up high enough this time. I don't suppose it really matters though..." he trailed off for a moment before continuing. "So, they injected you with something, cut into your arms and neck - the incisions were healed by the time you got back here - and talked about cranberry shunts and steel bones and messing with your brain...It's been a productive day. Anything else you remember?"

Cranberry shunts. Steve actually smiled at that one. "Yah. Vhen vhistler brought me back, I got a look aht myself. Just vhat I could see sitting vit my head down in der vheelchair but Bucky...I ahm nothing like I used to be. Dey haff changed eferything ahbout my body. I did not efen recognize my own hands." He couldn't help that his voice trembled a little. 

Bucky released a long, slow breath. "We need to get out of here, Steve. Soon. Before they start mucking around in our heads...I mean, more than they have..." There was a long pause before he continued, "Can I ask you something, Stevie?"

"Uv course, Buck. Ahnything."

His friend made a huffing sound. "If they...if I ever come back here and I'm not...you know...me, I need you to get out for both of us, before they take you, too. And when you do, I need you to leave me behind."

Steve's head whipped around and stared at the stone wall in disbelief. Was Bucky actually asking this of him?

"I know you wouldn't leave me here...not alive...but I don't wanna live if they manage to make me into something that's not me. I don't wanna be their weapon, Steve."

Steve licked his dry lips, worrying the bottom one between his teeth. Bucky was asking him to...

"I need you to kill me Steve. If that happens. Please, promise me."

Dropping his head back against the wall, Steve closed his eyes. Could he do that? Could he really end Bucky's life? If he wasn't him anymore...A few tears rolled silently down his face and he swiped them away before clearing his throat.

"Yah, Buck. But you need to make me der same promise."

A wet sob came before Bucky replied, his voice rougher than usual, "Yea, Steve. But it won't come to that. We'll get out, don't you worry."

~~~

There was a much longer gap between Steve's last procedure and the next time the door opened. So long in fact, that Steve's stomach was clenching with hunger when Heavy Feet rolled the wheelchair in for Bucky. 

And Steve was left to wait. He waited for longer than he ever had before. He waited for so long that he began to have thoughts. He quickly suppressed them; Bucky was fine...Bucky would be fine... Steve repeated it over and over and over until his brain numbed and he fell into a semblance of sleep...Only to be woken some time later by the loud grating of the metal door. 

He leapt to his feet and was at the bars in an instant, scanning the darkness frantically for some indication of his friend. He could hear Heavy Feet, and he could hear the wheelchair, but he couldn't tell if it was full or not. He actually fell to his knees in relief when he identified Bucky's slumped form as the chair passed by.

The cell opened. A body thumped onto the stone floor. The door closed. Heavy Feet and the wheelchair retreated. It was only then that the moaning started.

Bucky was making a horrible sound. A low, whimpering keen that seemed to have no start and no end. Steve was momentarily frozen by the chilling sound that had no business coming from his best friend.

"Bucky! Bucky! Talk to me! Please, Bucky!" He begged but he got no response. Only the moaning that continued on and on. Steve sat and listened, stricken with worry, for what felt like hours. Something awful must have happened for Bucky to be in such a state so Steve spent the time going over every horrible possibility that his panicked imagination could come up with.

Finally, the moan broke and stopped just as suddenly as it had begun. Silence descended. Steve's eyes flicked wildly back and forth, seeing nothing, focussing on nothing in the complete darkness. 

"...Bucky?" he ventured finally. A long silence passed before...

"Yeah, Steve. I'm here."

Steve crumpled. It was as if all his bones had turned to jelly in an instant; such was the intensity of his relief. It was short lived, though, and was replaced just as quickly with concern.

"Vhat happened, Bucky?"

A short sob followed by a hysterical giggle was his only response. Steve twisted, resting his forehead against their shared wall and placing both hands on it as well. He knew Bucky couldn't see him, couldn't tell what he was doing, but it was all he had, all he could do to try to help him. "Breathe, Buck. Breathe und tell me."

Bucky exhaled slowly, shakily, before speaking, his voice quiet and strained, "I was awake. Just like you last time. I could hear it all. Couldn't understand most of what the bastards were saying o' course but I felt it. No pain just...pressure and hot and cold and... ripping and pulling." He took another long, shaky breath in and then, "They took my arm, Steve. Fucking cut it off."

Steve gasped. Both he and Bucky had been operating under the assumption that the doctor wanted them in one piece. Whatever endgame, whatever plan he was trying to accomplish, they had thought they were safe from that.

"I...I caught the words growth and limb while they were goin’ on. I figure they wanted to see if we could grow entire body parts back. Didn't work though, obviously. When they cut it off, they got all quiet like before The Doctor ordered one of 'em to 'get the replacement'."

A horrible metallic scraping sound came from Bucky's cell before he continued.

"Hear that? Got me a brand new arm, Steve. Metal. They fuckin' welded it into my shoulder, into my bones. Into my spine too. Didn't know why but I can move the fuckin' thing just like my own so they must've done somthin'."

Steve was crying. Crying for Bucky, crying for himself, crying in fear of what these people could and would do to them. They didn't see them as human, he knew that, but he didn't think even the most sadistic scientist would experiment with a rat to this extent. But The Doctor wasn't a scientist, he was a monster.

"That's not all..." Bucky sighed, sounding a bit more like himself - talking about the procedures always seemed to help a bit - "They strapped me on my back, but I cracked open my eyes and saw them slice open my chest. The skin healed in a fuckin’ second but I saw my bones; I saw the metal. Steve...I think they've changed all our bones, not just arms and legs like we thought."

"...Bucky, I..." Steve finally managed words through his tears. "...I ahm so sorry, bucky. Dat you had to go through dat...I cannot imagine..."

"We need to get out, Steve,” Bucky cut him off. “We need to figure out a way."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like posting again. So here is the next one.

They devised a plan to escape after Steve came back from his next procedure. Thankfully, the Doctor had already determined that they could not grow back limbs so he didn't try again. The sedative still didn't work though, so they continued to stay awake during the sessions. 

They also noticed a drastic increase in their latent strength - Bucky had accidentally embedded his flesh fingertips in the stone wall when they had taken Steve - but when Bucky had tried to break the bars, he found that they were too heavily reinforced. He could make dents and warp the metal to some extent, but he couldn't get out. He explained this to Steve when he came back and it gave Steve an idea. The next time one of them was taken, assuming the sedative didn't work, they would rip out of their restraints on the table and overpower the nurses and the Doctor. That person could then rescue the other. 

It sounded simple enough but Bucky had many questions. They tried to work out the minutiae of the plan but there proved to be too many variables. They finally decided that they would have to take the risk regardless; it simply couldn't wait any longer. 

The plan wound up being activated the next day when they came to take Bucky. Steve heard him thump to the ground as the sedative took effect - hopefully for a very short time - and he was wheeled from the room. Steve settled in to wait and pray but after only a few minutes, he heard a horrible, chilling scream echo through the hallways. A creeping tendril of dread wound its way down Steve’s spine. Bucky had never screamed during the procedures, not even when they took his arm. He couldn't even feel pain, so what were they doing to make Bucky lose control? 

Steve slowly lost himself as he listened to Bucky scream bloody murder. Rage became his world. His vision - even in the darkness - went red. All thoughts except for Bucky were erased from his mind and his entire body lit up with energy. He was on his feet in an instant, screaming himself hoarse and shaking the immovable bars of the cell. Under his inhumanly strong hands, the bars bent...but not enough. The acidity of his anger settled hard in his stomach just waiting to be spat out in foul and vulgar ways. Except he wasn’t going to spit them, he was going to scream them into the now silent dark with every ounce of breath that dwelled in his lungs...Bucky had stopped screaming. Steve couldn't think past the anger enough to fear what that might mean. He could do nothing but stalk back and forth like an animal, listening, watching, waiting.

Until finally, the door opening and the familiar sounds of the wheelchair cut like a knife through Steve's red world. He blinked as sanity took hold once again and Bucky was tossed back into the cell. He dropped immediately to his knees and pressed against the stone wall. 

"Bucky! Vhat happened? Vhat did dey do to you?" 

There was no response. Steve waited. There was no response even after a long time. He could just barely hear his friend's erratic breathing so he knew he was alive, but also that something was very, very wrong. 

Dread crept over Steve like an icy chill, numbing his brain. In this frozen state, his mind offered only one thought: it had to be today. There was no avoiding it. He didn't know what they had done, but if he were incapacitated like Bucky was, they would have no chance.

It was at that moment that the door opened again and Steve spun around to face Heavy Feet as he wheeled the chair towards his cell. He fought, screaming at the man, but Heavy Feet jabbed him in the arm with the sharpcold and it was just enough of a distraction; Steve glanced down at his spasming limb for a second and that was all the window the guard needed to jab the needle harshly into his neck.

~~~

Steve was still fuming, a fuse ready to blow, when he came to only a few moments later as he was being wheeled into the lab. It was the earliest he had ever awoken. He was left for a minute in the wheelchair as they prepped the table and the straps.

"Die erste Runde der Elektrotherapie wurde von der anderen gut aufgenommen, obwohl es keine Möglichkeit zu sagen, wie lange es dauern wird, bevor wir eine leere Leinwand zu arbeiten haben; Hoffentlich können wir hier genauso erfolgreich sein," The Doctor’s oily voice came from somewhere in front of Steve.  
*The first round of electrotherapy was well received by the other, although there is no way to tell how long it will take before we have a blank canvas to work; Hopefully we can be just as successful here.

A feeling the likes of which he had never known descended upon him. It was like a vexing of the soul for what he felt was not human, it was twisted and distorted and strong. It burned like fire, lacing his veins and creeping up his spine, until it was all he could feel. He was intoxicated with an emotion he had no intention of ever feeling; hatred. The hate was Steve, Steve was the hate, and he couldn't remember to think around it, let alone want to. It was as if switches were being flicked in his brain and within seconds, the need to kill, the need to punish, managed to erase everything that was Stephan Roeder.

"His name...is Bucky," Steve said in German, speaking slowly and carefully, opening his eyes as the room went deadly silent. He looked up at three people dressed in white lab coats staring at him, dumbfounded. "Und you ahre going to pay for hurting him."

He stood up, snatched a pen from a clipboard and drove it with deadly force toward one of the nurse's eyeballs, stopping just short of impaling the man. He paused for a beat, everyone in the room frozen, before grabbing a handful of the man's brown hair, yanking his head down and swinging his arm around and driving the pen cleanly into the back of his neck. Yanking it out, he brought his left elbow up into the nurse's jaw. He twisted when the man went down, throwing a big fist into the other nurse's neck before stabbing the pen through the ear and into his brain. A satisfying crack sounded as the man's neck broke and Steve turned to the Doctor. 

The Doctor had turned to run but Steve was faster. He grabbed him by the hair, dragging him backward, before slamming him face down into the table, breaking his glasses and kicking him behind the knees for good measure. The Doctor’s legs buckled and he dropped to his knees with his chin on the table. Steve pinned him with one big hand, raising the other to deliver the fatal blow, when a sharp tingling sensation materialized across his left side. He twisted to find Heavy Feet standing there, holding a gun-like device with long wires attached to it. The wires were connected to Steve's skin and were delivering what he assumed was an impressive amount of electricity into his body. He took a moment to look back and forth between the wires and Heavy Feet before he grabbed the wires in his free hand, ripped them off and threw them right back at the guard. The man shrieked and fell to the floor in a twitching heap. Steve took three steps over to him and brought his foot down into the man's nose...hard. Heavy Feet gurgled once as the shards of his broken nose were driven into his brain, but Steve had already turned away.

Steve turned back to The Doctor. The man was drooling onto the the table - obviously Steve had already done some damage - but he was alive and his eyes were clear. Steve grabbed one of the scalpels that had so many times cut into his own flesh, and flashed it where The Doctor could see it. He felt the man stiffen under his hold. He placed the sharp instrument at The Doctor’s temple and pressed firmly. The blade sank into the skin, eliciting a howl of pain from the good doctor, before Steve dragged the knife down, cutting a deep gash into the side of his face and down toward his fluttering pulse. When he reached his neck, he drew the blade back before stabbing it cleanly through The Doctor’s carotid. He jerked it down and up and around, listening to the man gurgle and choke as he died, before pulling it out and letting his victim fall to the ground. 

It was only as he watched the steady pool of blood begin to grow around The Doctor, that Steve came back to himself. His hands were shaking so badly, the scalpel slipped right out of his fingers. It landed softly on the body, and bounced to the floor, but Steve wasn't watching the blade, or even the body. He was watching his own pale hands, drenched in scarlet blood. What had happened? He had already overwhelmed the small group, he hadn't needed to kill anyone. A small sob worked its way out of his throat but before he could fully lose focus, he ripped his gaze away from his hands...his bloody hands, to survey the room.

He stood in a shockingly white surgical theatre. There was indeed a metal table bolted to the floor in the centre, with heavy leather and metal straps dangling from it. Above it hung a huge machine filled with circular devices that looked a bit like light bulbs. Surrounding that were two machines, one equipped with an amazing amount of needles and tubes connected to a large vat filled with bubbling silver liquid, and one with two metal extensions mounted on retractable metal arms that were moulded vaguely in the form of a face. Both were humming quietly. 

Steve's eyes flicked to the walls, where dozens and dozens of X-rays were housed in flickering lit panels. They were labeled: Patient 1 and Patient 2. Steve ripped them all down, holding them in tightly clenched fists. There was a desk against the far wall on top of which were two thick folders labelled the same way. He grabbed those as well and stuffed the X-rays into one of them. Finally, he moved to the last thing in the room, a small buzzing refrigerator that proved to be filled with vials and vials of various substances, each labeled with an identifier and a patient number. Blood, bone marrow, tissue samples, hair, saliva, semen...Steve dropped the files on the table before he grabbed onto the top and side of the refrigerator, pulling it over easily and letting it and all its vials smash onto the floor. 

Snatching up the files, he turned to leave but hesitated a second later. Elena had been a 'patient' here as well. Who knew how many files or samples there were from other patients around here. Making up his mind, Steve went back to the desk and pulled open drawers until he found a lighter. He went over to the buzzing machine and turned all the knobs he could find. He opened valves and pushed buttons. He did the same with the bubbling needle machine. His eyes located a control panel on the far wall on which he pushed every button and flipped every switch. He then lit the lighter and left it on the table. That done, he pulled in a deep breathe before turning and running from the room; he didn't know how long he now had but he needed to get out of there, he needed to find Bucky, and they needed to leave.

Steve sprinted down the hall, stumbling a bit as his legs struggled to catch up after months of disuse. He reached the door and didn't hesitate before grabbing the handle and yanking it clean off its hinges to enter the pitch black hallway. Wanting to turn on a light, but not wanting to shock Bucky's senses after so long in the dark, he trailed his hand down the wall, stopping when he felt iron bars under his fingertips. He passed his own cell and stopped when he reached the next one. Steve wrapped a hand around the padlock he and Bucky could never reach and squeezed as hard as he could. The metal squeaked and whined for a second before, with a crunch, the mechanism gave way.

Bucky was laying sprawled on his side, obviously in the same position that Heavy Feet had tossed him in. Steve couldn't see much of him, just the length of his shaggy hair and the sharp metal glint of his new left arm. “Bucky...” he breathed, stepping to the man's side and dropping to his knees. He scooped an arm under the man and groaned as his head lolled backwards. “Oh my God…” he whispered. He had to move fast – he wasn't sure when or even if his makeshift bomb would detonate – but he refused to leave without Bucky.

He shook his friend's uninjured shoulder, whispering “It is okay, it is okay,” in the hopes that he might hear and the assurance would somehow soothe him. Bucky didn't react and Steve felt the familiar panic rise up. “Buck, shtay vit me, please vake up!”

He grabbed both sides of Bucky’s head and shook him a bit harder.

“Come on, Bucky, please!” he shouted now. They could only have seconds left, for all he knew. “Buck, vake up, please! Do not leafe me - do not do dis to me, PLEASE, BUCKY!”

After what felt like the longest minutes of his life, his friend's eyes snapped open and Bucky sat bolt upright. Steve exhaled shakily with relief.  
Bucky was clearly not fully coherent, but he was conscious enough to register the movement off to his side. He tensed, both arms raised and ready to defend himself.

“It is okay,” Steve said quickly, trying to exude calm, while also keeping their dwindling timeframe in mind.

He leaned as close as he dared and reached out a tentative hand to rest on Bucky's right shoulder. The brunette’s eyes were still slightly unfocused, gazing around, up and down, but as he registered the weight of Steve's hand, his eyes cleared, and he focusing on the unfamiliar face. There was a second where things didn't seem to click, and then suddenly, the smallest, most amazed smile turned up the corners of Bucky’s mouth.

“It is me; it is Steve,” Steve reassured him.

“S-Steve…” Bucky echoed, like he just couldn't believe it. He looked at him like Steve was the most wondrous thing he had ever laid his eyes on, but also that perhaps he was not really there at all...that maybe the whole thing was just some wonderful dream.

“Come on,” Steve urged.

Bucky just kept repeating his name in disbelief while Steve made motions to help. Bucky couldn't take his eyes off of him, as he reached out and grabbed the blonde’s offered hand to pull himself up onto shaky legs. Steve clasped the side of his neck and lamented, “I thought you were dead.”

“I thought you said you were small,” Bucky replied, eyes now swiping up and down Steve’s stature and looking more shocked at that than anything else.

“I said I vas. Come, ve must go,” Steve said. He slung an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and helped him out of the cell and into the corridor. He noticed that though Bucky was mostly moving normally, he was a little sluggish, so he helped lead him towards the door. Stepping to the open doorway, Steve peered out, checked if the coast was clear. Bucky was gaining strength fast and seemed strong enough now that they could go from walking to breaking out into a quicker stride, after all, time was of the essence.

They jogged through a doorway, into another narrow hallway with a single door at the far end. Just as they approached however, it swung open and Steve heard a nasty laugh before a German voice was saying, “Nun, wenn es nicht Doktor’s haustiere ist!"  
*Well! If it isn’t the doctor’s pets

They came to a halt. At the end of the hallway stood a tall, broad Nazi soldier, a slimmer one behind him. He spoke easily and with confidence. Steve knew that voice. This was Whistler. He felt undiluted hatred flood through his entire body. 

Despite his confidence, it seemed as though Whistler hadn’t known enough about the experiments to have been expecting the sight of Steve when he finally got a good look at him standing strong. Whatever he’d thought he’d known, it hadn’t been this, not if the spark of confusion and fear that flickered across his eyes, the way his mouth opened to speak again but then closed, was any indication. Steve saw Whistler, and Whistler saw him, and for the Nazi, it seemed to sink in fast that he was in trouble. In a fraction of a second, Whistler seemed to realize that he was horribly outmatch in this game of predators.

Normally, Steve would have focused on that, except there was only one emotion that filtered into his brain, and thus it was the only emotion he could focus on: rage, in its purest form. This was the man who had been tormenting them for months... hurting him…hurting Bucky...

He didn't even realize that Bucky had grown exceptionally still and quiet by his side, that his eyes were flicking continuously back and forth between Steve and the Germans.

Steve crossed the hallway in a flash – his reflexes were outmatched and too quick for Whistler to keep up with – and grabbed the German by the throat, clutching with every intent to kill. Whistler’s eyes were instantly wide, bulging from his head. Steve’s head was clear, filled with the same focus that he had felt when he had taken down the Doctor and nurses; the monster was taking over again with only one goal that mattered: the man in his grip needed to die, and so die he would.

In his peripherals, the unknown Nazi turned on his heel as soon as he saw Steve attack his buddy and tried to make a run for it. It was then that Steve heard the furious sound of Bucky’s "STOP!" rip through the large room, echoing menacingly. The noise was fitting, in that it didn't sound quite human. It was ferocious...deadly. Steve didn't take his eyes off of Whistler’s face, even as the man tried to break out of the vice grip around his neck, as Bucky ran past and grabbed the slimmer German by the arm, halting his attempted escape. The brunette immediately knocked the man's feet out from under him, landing him on his front on the ground. He twisted one arm behind him, causing a shriek of pain, and pressed his knee into the small of his back, holding his neck in a firm grip.

Knowing his friend had his target neutralized, Steve focused fully on his own target. There was enough coherence in Whistler's eyes for fear to flash across his features one last time, as instinct took over and violently snapped every tether that could’ve possibly held Steve together. He grit his teeth, before he locked his arm around Whistler's neck, his other hand coming up to palm his face. With a quick, lethal movement, he snapped the man's neck. 

He heard another sharp snap from below where Bucky was crouched atop the smaller man. He didn't bother checking to see what his friend had done to the man.

They were both breathing heavily as Bucky stood. Steve let Whistler's body fall to the floor, dumped with his compatriot. Looking to each other, Bucky gave a small nod. Steve returned it, and together they turned and ran toward the exit.


	8. Chapter 8

Steve's makeshift bomb went off with perfect timing just as Steve and Bucky pushed through the last door and sprinted off across the field. They stopped and watched the building burn from the trees, where they were sufficiently hidden from view. The entire structure was engulfed in flames within five minutes; no one tried to escape.

“We have to get out of here,” Steve said finally. Bucky’s eyes were glued to the burning facility, which at any moment could draw unwanted attention. He didn’t respond. Steve reached out hesitantly and touched his shoulder. Bucky flinched violently and flattened himself against a tree, eyes wide, unfocused and filled with panic. 

“Nonononononononono,” he moaned in a continuous stream.

Steve didn’t think. He stepped in close - pining Bucky’s body hard to the tree with his own – and started stroking his hair. He put his lips next to Bucky’s ear and passed a few minutes doing nothing but murmuring encouragement. When it didn’t seem to be alleviating Bucky’s spell, Steve gave in to his own instincts and started to gently kiss the very back of his jaw.

Bucky inhaled deeply at the feeling, and it was enough to get his eyes to close and make him stop moaning. Steve couldn’t ever remember feeling this way… they were standing so close to danger and yet all he could think about was how desperately he wanted Bucky. He had long been aware of and fought against the direction in which his proclivities leaned, but he had never felt anything remotely this strong. His world had very quickly become all about Bucky in the cells, but this was deeper than that. It was literally like nothing else mattered anymore, and he couldn’t stop gliding his tongue against him – below his ear, along Bucky’s chin, his cheek…

Bucky had been clutching at his arms – gripping with brutal force – but Steve now felt them relaxing and tightening rhythmically, matching every deep inhale he took through his nose. His breaths started coming from his opened mouth, loud and desperate and hungry.

Never opening his eyes, Bucky panted raggedly and then turned his face in towards Steve’s mouth. His lips brushed against Steve’s tongue and then closed over it, sucking and letting out an obscene groan. With that, Steve took his face in his hands at the same moment that Bucky threw his arms around Steve’s back, pulling him in, and they crushed their lips together.

It was like its own sort of frenzy. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and Steve could feel and taste and hear Bucky. He had never yearned for anyone so badly.

They kissed as though they would never have the chance again. They kissed to keep Bucky distracted and honestly, because Steve didn’t feel capable of restraining himself from putting his hands on Bucky. His need for him was growing like a thing of its own, this raw, hectic, unfathomable need.

It was fucked up, really – that they were doing this where they were, given what had just happened. But no one knew they were there; there was no problem. They got out unseen and they remained unseen--

Bucky’s right hand was running over Steve’s ass and then squeezing it. Steve involuntarily rocked their hips together, and the sensation that rang through both of them was so much more than anything he had ever imagined. Steve panted harshly against the man’s flesh, and all Bucky could do was tip his head back against the bark and fist his hand in Steve’s hair. He moaned openly and then gasped when their clothed erections ground together for the first time.

It was this contact that set warning bells clanging in Steve’s head. He finally broke through the fog enveloping his mind and wrenched himself away from Bucky. Panting, he shook his head and tried to catch his breath.

“Ve haff to keep mofing. Dey haff probably ahlready seen der fire.”

Bucky looked completely bewildered at the loss of Steve’s mouth and touch. He blinked rapidly a few times before his grey eyes seemed to clear and he nodded, swallowing hard. 

With a nod of his own, Steve turned and they headed into the deep forest.

They had absolutely no idea where they were going – there was nowhere for them to go anymore; the doctors had ensured that they didn't belong anywhere. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between them however that their destination was anywhere far away.

Their feet carried them deeper and deeper into the woods. They followed their unmarked path in silence. Bucky was the one to finally break it by stating, "We need to find something to eat, Steve, and some clothes.” Steve nodded absently, still trying to settle his whirling mind.

They came across a tiny camp of German soldiers a short while later. Steve glanced at Bucky, hiding behind a tree to his right, who wasn't taking his eyes off of the men sitting warming themselves by the fire. Steve set his jaw and tried to remember that they were the enemy, soldiers who would kill them as soon as look at them.

Bucky was out from behind the tree and across to the soldiers before Steve could finish gathering his will. Between the two of them, they dispatched the men quickly; they were dead before any of them could even react. 

They immediately went for the cans of beans and hash the soldiers had been eating. They downed everything before turning to the tents. Steve found a set of clothes, slacks, shirts and shoes, in the first tent.

Steve pulled off the papery hospital gown and was instantly distracted by the unfamiliar sight of his new body. He hadn't had a chance to take a proper look at himself yet. He was standing taller and therefore seeing the world at a new angle, and it threw him off balance. He felt thick all over, and almost uncomfortably warm; he could practically feel the heat radiating off of his skin. He wondered if they made his blood hotter. He did like the way he felt full when he breathed, how it didn't hurt anymore. He'd been plagued by asthma his entire life but it didn't seem as if it would be a concern anymore.

He was muscled – that explained the constant feeling of warmth – all over and there was not a blemish on his body; every scar he’d ever worn over the years was miraculously gone. His skin was perfect.

He brought his fingers to his abdomen and they hovered over the skin. He was almost afraid to touch, afraid the body wouldn't feel like his own. He did anyway, shivering a little at the contact, the feel of unfamiliar muscle under his fingertips. Shaking his head, he finished pulling on the clothes. 

He stepped out to find Bucky waiting for him, standing by the fire. The man was in reality surprisingly close to how Steve had imagined he looked. He was extremely attractive, standing about Steve's new height, broad and muscular - though Steve knew the experiments had added a lot - with thick shoulder-length dark brown hair. His eyes were a piercing shade of grey-blue set deep under dark eyebrows. His features were strong and defined, his jaw covered, as Steve's was, with a heavy growth of hair. 

Bucky’s lips were drawn into a hard line and he had his arms crossed over his chest. Steve's eye was drawn to the left one. The metal was moulded to look just like a regular arm, with plates that shifted as Bucky moved. His metal hand was clenched tightly around his right bicep. Steve's gaze slid up the smooth metal to Bucky's shoulder. The skin there was rippled with scarring; apparently even superhuman healing couldn't help when a limb was forcibly removed. 

Either the extended staring or the complete silence eventually drew Bucky's attention away from the fire and he turned to face Steve.

"You okay?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded, “I ahm fine.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes and cocked his head, evidently taking his turn to get a good look at Steve. “Looks like more than fine. Jesus Steve, I thought you said you weren't Hitler's wet dream?"

Steve huffed, "I nefer vas." He waved a hand at his body vaguely, "Dis is new."

"Yeah...know what you mean..."

Steve looked up from buttoning his shirt to see Bucky examining his shiny left hand, his eyebrows drawn together in a frown.

"Bucky…”

"We should keep moving," Bucky interrupted, clearly uninterested in talking about it. "We'd be better off to rest for the night further out." He didn't wait for Steve's response before he grabbing a rucksack from the ground and slinging it over his good shoulder. Steve followed him and the two headed off into the woods.

There were a couple of close calls as they walked, times when they could hear or see hidden soldiers of different nationalities moving around parts of the woods. But they were always able to use their enhanced speed to rush past them before they could be detected, either that or they found an alternate route.

They kept going for another few hours, and still they didn't speak, not really. Steve wanted to ask Bucky what he was thinking about. Was he hurt? In pain? Was he seconds away from bursting with anger? It left him constantly on edge. But what was even more confusing, was that even though Bucky wasn't saying a word, he kept bumping Steve’s arm or hand with own, very intentionally. Steve hoped that it was his way of letting him know he was okay.

Since they were heading into the Tatra Mountains now, the higher they ascended, the colder it was, and oddly, the more comfortable they felt. There were also far fewer soldiers around. Eventually they realized that they hadn't come across anybody in almost one-hundred and twenty minutes and they happened upon a small stream of fresh running water, with a little clearing buried in the trees nearby. It was as good a place as any for them to rest for the night.

Trudging to the water, they took their time to clean themselves as well as they could. It turned out Bucky had had the presence of mind to add a bar of soap and a razor to the rucksack. He had also added as many cans and packets of food as he could find as well as two extra sets of clothing. Steve felt, for what he figured was about the millionth time in the last few months, eternally gratefully for this man.

Once Bucky was cleaned up and shaved, he passed the soap and razor over. He watched Steve wash for a moment before he broke the silence by sitting back on his haunches and letting out a loud breath. 

“Okay,” he said, sounding more like his old self. He cracked a tiny, dry smile as he stared down at the stream. “Guess there’s nothing else to do, huh? Might as well make a fire?”

He obviously meant nothing by it, but hearing his friend's casual friendly tone, Steve was washed over by intense guilt. When Bucky turned that smile onto him, Steve found he couldn't return it. He chose instead to avert his eyes and nod, finishing his cleanse and shave, and leaving Bucky to dry himself on the bank. He had to force himself not to look back at the man, even though he could feel Bucky’s eyes on him and sense the confusion and worry radiating off of him.

Steve insisted on making the fire all by himself. So Bucky sat on the ground, watching, he would have been cold if he were still...normal, but he wasn't, neither of them were. 

“You know you don’t have to do that,” Bucky said quietly. He chuckled, but Steve could still feel his intense gaze on the back of his head.

“I know,” Steve mumbled. There were a good amount of coals burning and the flames were a decent size, so he resolved that it was fine for now and took a seat next to Bucky.

Apparently not close enough, though. He could still feel the Sergeant’s eyes on him and very deliberately pretended not to notice.

“What’s going on with you?” Bucky asked abruptly. Steve just kept staring into the fire. Bucky sighed, “Seriously, Steve, you didn’t say a word all night and now you’re sitting with enough room to have the entire lineup of the Yankees between us.”

“I ahm not entirely certain vhat der yankees is but I ahm not sitting dat far ahway,” Steve replied, frowning and finally turning his head towards him. “Und you did not exactly say much yourself, you know.”

Bucky brought his knees to his chest and draped his arms over them. Arching an eyebrow like he could see right through Steve, “I wasn’t talkin’ because you weren’t talkin’, dipshit,” he pressed. He was trying to make his tone playful, lighthearted, as if he wasn't concerned about Steve's odd mood. “Don’t change the subject; you’re deflecting,” Bucky continued. “Why are you doing that? I’m trying to find out what’s botherin’ you and so far you ain’t giving me much to work with."

“I ahm fine.”

“Bullshit,” Bucky said firmly. His tone softened, and he continued, “Steve, you've been able to...had to tell me everything for months now. So talk to me – what is it?”

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek with a deep frown. It took him a few tries to properly start forming the right words, but then he was confessing, “I do not understand.”

“Understand what?”

“Vhy you ahre ahcting so normal,” Steve said. There, it was out in the open now. Turning his head towards him, he continued, “You should be horrified, Bucky. You know vhat happened back dere, vhat I did, und you haff not mentioned it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “What exactly happened, Steve?”

Steve shifted a bit and averted his gaze. “I killed people...eferyone...I...I haff been a Catholic my entire life. Dou shalt not kill; number vun commandment. I...my soul is damned,” he lamented.

Bucky’s jaw clenched but when he spoke, his voice was gentle. “A Nazi doctor experimented on us, Steve. He gave us fuckin' bones made of metal. He made us damn near perfect, indestructible and he cut off my bloody arm. None of that shit is my fault. None of that is your fault. Why can't you see that?”

“It is... I did not need to kill dose people, und I cannot remofe der feeling dat I haff sinned, Bucky. I do not beliefe in a God who vould forgife me for vhat I did,” Steve insisted.

Bucky scoffed, glancing to the fire now, too, and shook his head. “Trust me, after everything we dealt with in that place, I don’t think there’s much left I wouldn’t believe in anymore,” he muttered. Huffing, he turned so he was facing the blonde. “You think you're goin' to Hell?”

“Yah,” Steve answered, as though that should have been obvious. “I...should - vhat I did vas wrong, Bucky. I-I--”

“You what?” Bucky interrupted. “You killed some - I can't even call them people - who fuckin’ tortured us? You got us the fuck out of that hellhole. Tell me what exactly it is you did that you think you should be lynched for.”

Steve gave him a weak look. How could Bucky not understand? The brunette seemed to recognize Steve’s inner plight and his expression softened. Sighing, he said, “Okay, tell me what actually happened. Last thing I remember before seeing your face was that asshole strapping metal plates to my head, so… fill in the gaps for me, and if you’re right and you should be punished, I’ll punch you in the face or somethin’ and then you’ll know.”

“Dis is not a joke, Bucky,” Steve said tiredly.

“Steve, just fucking tell me.”

So he did. The words hurt to say and the memory made him feel dirty but he forced himself to get them out, even if he couldn't look Bucky in the eye the whole time. 

"I-I do not know vhat came ofer me. I heard him mention dat he had put you through electro derapy und I vent dark. I could haff just knocked dem ahll out, I did not haff to kill dem...but I did."

When he was finished, there was silence and Steve peered up at Bucky guiltily again, waiting for something - anything - to justify the remorse he was feeling.

Bucky was staring at him, contemplating his words, “I grew up with a Bible thumping Catholic mom and a dad who went to synagogue every Saturday. I know guilt, Stevie. And I know God's word. You didn't do anything wrong.” He sighed, “The Doctor and Whistler and the rest are the ones who are burning in Hell, Steve. They all worked to turn us into...something else. Getting us out of there, however you did it, isn't something you should feel guilty about." He looked up at the darkened sky and bit his lip, "How can I explain this?"

He snapped his fingers, "Ah! Alright, so when I was seventeen, I sent a guy named Mick Hornby to the hospital after I caught him in an alley tryin' to force himself on this girl. I just - as you said - lost it. I don't even remember what happened, I just came to with bloody knuckles and Mick layin' there bleeding and unconscious. I ran home and told my ma what I did; I couldn't stop cryin'. You know what she did? She kissed each one of my bleeding fingers before pulling me down to my knees and saying a prayer with me. She was crying too but she told me she had never been more proud of me. She said that when evil exists in the world, the only thing that is more evil is allowing it to persist if you have the power to stop it," he met Steve's gaze. "You stopped it, Steve. You had the power to and you did. If you just knocked them out, can you tell me for sure that The Doctor wouldn't have gone right back, snatched some more poor fucks and started right back in again?"

Steve worried his lip but shook his head. Bucky stood up, walked over to Steve and knelt down in front of him, grabbing both of his hands in his own. "You destroyed all the research, all the samples, all the people who could and would have continued that horrible experiment. You didn't do anything wrong. You did God's work, Steve, I know that in my heart."

He gave Steve a wry smile, "And I dunno if you’re suddenly regretting keepin’ me around, but you got me out of there, and I’m personally glad you did.”

“How can you efen say dat?” Steve exclaimed, gripping Bucky's hands back. “Bucky, I - I could nefer efen dink ahbout dat... do you know how desperate I vas vhen I dought I had lost you? Vhen you vould not vake up?”

“Exactly,” Bucky said. “And that’s my point, Steve. I wouldn’t have done a thing different, not a chance in Hell. I would have taken all those sons o' bitches out as well. Would you think I was damned if our roles were reversed? Do you think I'm destined for Hell because I killed that guard?”

Steve tried to think about it, but he knew the answer right away. “No,” he said. He didn't. They needed to get out, and The Doctor did need to die. The guards and the nurses and the research needed to be destroyed as well. The experiment needed to end with the two of them.

“Well, there you go,” Bucky said, one corner of his mouth turning up in a tiny, half-smile. “I don’t know what the fuck we’re supposed to do now, but we’ll figure it out together, ‘kay?”

Steve was still not fully convinced. It didn't feel like it should be that easy. Deep down, a part of him still believed that Bucky just didn't fathom how big of a deal it was. But he nodded regardless, thinking, not for the first time, about how exhausted he was. Bucky watched him carefully as Steve looked down at the ground in front of his crossed legs.

“What? There’s somethin’ else, I can tell,” Bucky asked.

“Vhat I… did, earlier, I…” Steve shook his head, trying not to scowl in self-hatred. “I ahm sorry for dat.”

“You mean when we kissed?” Bucky asked with surprise.

Steve nodded stiffly. “I do not efen know vhat came ofer me, I just... you vere panicking und I felt like...it vas necessary or-“ He sighed and rubbed his eyes.

“I still don’t get why you’re apologizing,” Bucky said. He almost sounded like he was bordering the line between concerned and defensive. Steve made a frustrated sound and scrubbed his whole face.

“Because, I did not efen dink ahbout vhat you vanted, how you vould feel," he answered angrily. "I - I did not... I did not efen ahsk, Bucky. It vas like I could not dink; I just took, und I hate myself for dat because I do not efer vant to hurt you!”

Bucky didn’t respond at first, so Steve looked up at him. He was confused by the expression waiting for him. Bucky was staring off, face just sort of… calm, neutral. But his pupils were just a tiny bit bigger than average, and Steve realized… Bucky was getting turned on, just at the mere mention of what they’d done. He could feel it, feel the desire coming off Bucky in waves. Automatically, something stirred in his stomach but disgusted with himself, he fought it.

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” Bucky said so quietly that Steve didn’t catch it.

“Vhat?”

Bucky cleared his throat and spoke a little louder, “I said, you wouldn’t hurt me.” Grey-blue eyes roamed over to his, “You think you were the only one who felt like you were out of control? I couldn’t even see straight – all I could feel was panic... I felt like I was drowning. Then you kissed me and it felt like it just went away...” He shook his head slightly, as if struggling to put it into the proper words. “The second you kissed me, it was like my head cleared. All I wanted was...more.”

Steve’s brows furrowed as he listened. How could he feel that way? He had taken advantage of Bucky’s vulnerability, inflicted his perversity on the other man.

He opened his mouth to argue when Bucky said quickly, “I know what you’re thinking and you’re wrong. So just shut up and listen, will ya? You said you thought you wronged me and I’m telling you that you didn’t. I’m perfectly fine; better than fine, actually.” 

With a humourless chuckle, he clarified, “Truth be told, I feel more alive now than I have in months… maybe ever. Do you understand?”

He didn’t, he really didn’t, but then again, he supposed that it wasn’t exactly his right to tell Bucky he was wrong about how he felt. He still didn’t quite believe it – his priest had told him for so many years that it was a part of him he needed to keep at bay - and at certain point, it was almost impossible to. On the other hand, he could see that trying to dispute it any further will only lead into an argument, so he resigned himself to it and gave a half-hearted nod. Bucky’s gaze grew more intent.

“Steve, I mean it, stop,” he said sincerely. But Steve couldn’t help but hear how the tone had dropped, just a bit. 

“Steve? Can you just look at me for a second, please? Just one second, that’s all, I swear. Then you can go back to poutin’ and giving me the silent treatment.”

Steve felt himself flush and it took a moment, but eventually he conceded and met Bucky’s eyes. He wasn’t prepared for the look on Bucky’s face. His pupils were blown wide and a red flush had taken over his face and neck. He was perfect, physically speaking. Aside from his arm, there was not a single flaw on him. No one was supposed to like this...The Doctor had turned this man into walking artwork. 

It didn’t help that, for whatever reason that Bucky was behaving this way, his desire seemed to be resonating in Steve as well. It made it all the more difficult to ignore, but he kept trying.

Bucky got the faintest trace of a smile while his eyes dashed over Steve’s face. “You’re gorgeous,” he said, a trade of awe in his voice. “No one should be this pretty. Jesus Christ, Steve.”

Steve didn’t know how much he liked being stared at that intensely. He had never been one to enjoy being on display, especially since he wouldn’t exactly have called himself the nicest canvas to start with. Not knowing what to say, and feeling uncomfortable with all the possibilities, he simply shrugged.

Evidently taking this as a cue, Bucky leaned forward and planted his hands on the snowy ground. “When I saw you standin’ over me, I thought you were an angel,” he said. Steve flushed at that but that only seemed to spur Bucky on. His gaze was locked on Steve and the blonde recognized the look, it’d been the one he was given when he’d finally wrenched himself away from Bucky at the tree line...desire.

Bucky started slowly crawling towards him, never blinking, just staring up at him from under long, dark lashes, his lips slightly parted. The way his joints rolled and his body slunk forwards, closing the distance, reminded Steve of a cat.

“Can I touch you, Stevie?” Bucky asked, his voice dripping with lust. Steve found himself placing his hands down behind his back and slowly inching himself away. He couldn’t let this happen. He was still convinced that Bucky had only said what he did to make him feel better, to help absolve him. He couldn’t possibly want Steve that way and Steve couldn’t drag him down and take advantage of him, not after everything they’d been through.

“Why’re you movin’ away from me?” Bucky asked with genuine confusion, amusement colouring his tone. “Please… stop for one second and let me touch you. I just want to touch you. Wanna make sure you’re not a dream.”

Steve’s back hit a tree trunk and he realized he had run out of places to go. He could just break away to the side and get to his feet, put a real stop to this, but the closer Bucky got, the stronger the pull was. By the time Bucky was staring at Steve’s mouth and climbing onto his lap, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist and the small tree trunk behind him, Steve didn’t want to stop just as badly as he knew he couldn’t.

Bucky looked all around his face like he couldn’t take the sight in fast enough. He brought one hand to Steve’s temple and lightly dragged his fingers down the outline of his jaw… to his chin… over his lips. “Can someone be too beautiful?” he asked, mostly to himself. “You are perfect.”

“Buck… Ve…”

“Touch me, Stevie – please?” Bucky asked. He was so close that Steve kept thinking that Bucky was going to kiss him, but it didn’t get that far. Steve repeatedly told himself that he shouldn’t touch. If he did, he knew where this would lead. Bucky was still caressing along the different parts of his face, through his hair, along the line of his throat as he said, “I wanna know what you feel like. Show me, please.”

Something inside of Steve clenched and then broke. He was tentative, but he brought up his fingers and cupped Bucky’s cheek. The brunette’s eyes instantly closed and he sighed, nuzzling into the palm of his hand. “Steve, talk to me,” he breathed.

Steve choked and Bucky got a small smile at that. He leaned in and titled Steve’s chin up. Thinking he was going in for a kiss finally, Steve leaned up automatically and Bucky’s smile grew into a smirk. 

“Knew you wanted it. As bad as I do...” Steve felt Bucky’s mouth press to his temple and then start to inch its way downward. Steve realized his hands were gripping Bucky’s hips... he didn’t even remember putting them there.

“Bucky… Vait, I do not dink--”

“Shh…” Bucky kissed along his jaw and then brushed their mouths together. “You couldn’t hurt me…” He shuffled his hips back a bit and Steve went tense when he felt Bucky reach between them and start undoing Steve’s slacks.

“Buck…”

“You couldn’t hurt me,” Bucky promised again. “It’s okay…” His tongue swiped – just the smallest touch – across Steve’s bottom lip. Steve realized his eyes had fluttered closed...he didn’t recall when that happened either. “I want you… God, you’re so pretty...”

The blonde heard his belt clink before being unbuckled and pulled down slightly. Bucky didn’t try slipping his hand inside though, just rubbed over the bulge in the front of Steve’s pants, stroking him over the fabric. Steve’s breath caught and he tightened his grip, digging his fingertips into Bucky’s waist.

“Left you speechless, baby?” Bucky purred, teasingly gliding his mouth across Steve’s again. Steve’s mouth was slack and he gasped, feeling Bucky rub him harder. Bucky licked his top lip and then growled quietly in his chest, and suddenly he was kissing back across his jaw and making his way south, down his neck. “Bucky,” Steve panted. “Oh my God…”

He started trying to roll his hips as much as he could, sitting the way he was, to get more friction against Bucky’s hand. He wrapped one arm around Bucky’s back and brought his other up so his fingers could thread into his long hair. The sensations were too much, Bucky was too much. Everything’s starting to spin and… he was slipping all over again…

“Skin like a China doll, Stevie,” Bucky husked, between sucking over his pulse point. “You really are my little baby doll…” He scraped his teeth along the skin and Steve choked on a sound in his throat and stuttered against him. Bucky’s eyes were closed and he grinned, lips still pressed to Steve’s throat,

“Bucky… Vait, Buck…”

“Why?”

Bucky just kept kissing him, getting him impossibly harder in his pants. “Because I... I vant to fuck you...” he forced out.

“Fuck, yes…”

“No, you do not…” Steve couldn’t form proper thoughts, his brain was getting too clouded. “You do not understand, I... auh, bucky, I... I could... I could hurt you...”

Bucky was undoing his own pants with the other hand. He ran his tongue up to Steve’s ear and then pinched the lobe between his teeth. Hovering his lips over the hollow curve of the shell, he whispered, “You wouldn’t hurt me…”

“I could,” Steve grit out adamantly.

Bucky paused momentarily and nodded against the side of Steve’s face. “Steve, it’s okay,” he told him. His voice was hypnotic. “We’re okay. I trust you… No matter what happens, I’m going to like it. I’ll tell you if I don’t, and I know you’ll stop. Steve, god damnit, I want you so fucking bad, you’re driving me crazy,” he growled again.

If Steve planned on answering, Bucky didn’t give him the chance. He crushed their lips together and immediately pushed his tongue against the parting of Steve’s lips. Brows creasing, Steve moaned helplessly and finally gave in, letting his mouth open so Bucky could slide his tongue inside. Sensing his surrender, Bucky groaned and removed his hand from Steve’s crotch so he could slide it up Steve’s shirt; feeling along his new muscles and his flawless, sculpted build.

“Oh my God,” he exhaled between kisses. “Fuck, Steve, fuck…”

I want to, Steve almost said, but all he did was kiss Bucky back harder. Suddenly they were moving frantically. Bucky climbed off of him, but they didn’t break the kiss until Bucky was ripping himself away with heavy pants to strip his clothes off. He removed everything, everything but his dog tags, in the blink of an eye. Steve’s automated response was to want to worry that Bucky would get too cold, but by then, Bucky was grabbing the waistband of Steve’s pants and trying to tug them and his underwear down. The blond stared at him, mesmerized, unable to do anything but plant his hands on the ground and lift his hips a bit. All Bucky needed was for them to be pulled away enough to free Steve’s cock, and then he was crawling back on his lap.

They resumed kissing. It felt more like a battle – one that neither of them would ever win. It was aggressive and heated and passionate and violent all rolled into one. He raised his arms above his head and Bucky slipped his shirt off. When he pulled back, his eyes darted all over Steve’s chest and he groaned, running his hands along it.

“Fuck,” Bucky repeated. It seemed to be his favourite word at the moment, because he repeated it another several times before grabbing Steve roughly by the hair and reclaiming his mouth again. Steve broke through the fog he was feeling just enough to grow nervous when Bucky turned out of the kiss long enough to lick up his hand and then wrap it around Steve’s cock. Steve couldn’t even manage the first letter of his new lover’s name before a cry spilled from his lips.

It wasn’t long before Bucky was pressing his hips in closer and lifting himself onto his knees. Steve could feel him angling his cock, and he started to panic. “Bucky,” he began. 

Bucky shut him up with a kiss.

“We’re okay,” Bucky answered adamantly.

“It...it...,” Steve didn’t even know what he was pleading for.

Bucky stilled and stared into Steve’s eyes. He already looked wrecked – oh, sweet merciful Lord, he looks so beautiful – but when he spoke, he was in complete control and he was nothing but sincere: “Steve… it’s okay… do you trust me?”

He nodded, slowly.

“I love you… ‘kay?” Bucky whispered. “I want this.”

Steve’s brain stuttered over the declaration as he searched his face in desperation. For the first time, something inside of him felt relieved… free, somehow. Bucky loved him – he loved him. He wanted this, he… he wanted this with Steve, and Steve wanted him, too, and if it would make Bucky feel good then that was Steve’s only objective. 

Eyebrows still knit, he gave another small nod.

Bucky started to sink down and whether it was for Steve’s own sake or his own, he was careful with his penetration. He hadn’t relaxed his muscles, so it must be uncomfortable, but the way Bucky’s mouth fell open… how his head fell back… how passionately he exhaled a moan when Steve felt his cock slip up past the tight rim and pop inside… It must feel good… It must really be bringing him pleasure.

Steve watched his face, just in case he saw any sign to the contrary. Bucky took about a five second wait for every inch he let guide its way into him. Steve’s nose was scrunched up - his mouth hung open - and fuck, Bucky’s dick was so hard between them. Leaking… it was dripping already, all over Steve’s chest.

“Hmmm…” Bucky whined, high in his throat. The noise dropped at the end and plummeted into a needy, throaty snarl. He was talking to himself. “Oh God…”

When he arched his back, still impaling himself down, Steve caught Bucky’s head just as he tossed it back and held him close. Leaning forward, he was the one now to bring his tongue to Bucky’s neck and take in the taste of his skin. He kept his kisses firm but gentle, spurred on by the way Bucky wrapped his arms around the back of his neck and exhaled another hot moan.

Maybe it was because Steve’s mouth was latched to his throat, but when Bucky was fully seated on his cock, he started to move very slowly, grinding against Steve and driving him slowly towards insanity. 

Steve couldn’t have spoken if he tried; all his mind could repeat was Bucky’s name and a string of expletives that he’d be shouting if he could find his voice. He understood why this was addictive; never had anything felt like this… his cock had never been so tightly squeezed, or perfectly nestled inside of anything… and yet... Bucky’s cries and ragged gasps reminded Steve that it felt just as mind-blowing for him as well, and that was all he really cared about.

Bucky directed Steve’s face back up so he could press their foreheads together. Anchoring his knees to the ground, he started to lift his body up and then sink back down around him. Bucky’s face were so close, and the grey-blue eyes were so filled with love that it took Steve’s breath away. He’d almost lost him today but didn’t… he was right there, right in Steve’s arms, and for the first time, it dawned on him that he could have Bucky like this.

“Feel so good…” Bucky moaned with bated breath. “Do I feel good, Stevie?”

“Yah,” Steve moaned.

“Steve…” Bucky whispered as his eyes squeezed shut and his face pinched in ecstasy. He sat himself down hard and started circling his hips. Steve’s jaw went slack and he almost startled by the guttural moan that got caught in his throat. Bucky’s eyes snapped back open and it was so fucking intense – the way he held Steve’s gaze, a challenge flickered in the depths. 

Steve took the bait, holding tightly onto his lover and flipping them over, laying Bucky out on his back in the snow. Wherever it touched Steve’s skin, it felt more like a blanket – felt, really, no cooler than water. It was strangely comforting. Somehow, Bucky was even more gorgeous looking up at Steve like that. Steve liked towering over him - covering him and protecting him with his body.

They were pressed together, trapping Bucky’s cock against their stomachs, and Steve kept himself up by his forearms on either side of the brunette’s head. Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve’s waist as he hooked his arms under Steve’s, clutching onto his shoulders. They looked at each other – eyes burning but nothing on their faces but a faithful adoration and love – and Bucky nodded.

Steve started rolling his hips, thrusting his dick in and out of him. Bucky’s gasped but he never looked away or stopped breathing out the noises of pleasure. Steve’s own euphoria pulsed and rocketed throughout his body, unrelenting through every single movement. 

It took him a while – mostly because all either of them could manage for some time was growling or moaning or some semblance of each other’s names – but the first coherent words Steve could push out were, “I vant to eat you out... I vant... I vant my lips ahround your cock...”

Bucky’s way of responding was to surge up and slam their mouths together, groaning brokenly, before pulling away and nodding, trying to push Steve down his body. Steve’s breathing was heavy and quick as he kissed a hasty path down Bucky’s abdomen before finally getting his mouth around the wet head of his erection. Bucky gripped his hair in both hands and arched his back as Steve sucked him deep into his throat and began to bob his head up and down. But he never forced Steve a certain way or tried to thrust his hips up. He just let Steve take him apart this way, because he trusted him to.

Unable to feel satiated no matter how deep he could fit Bucky into his throat, Steve went from fucking his mouth on him to sucking on his balls and teasing his slightly gaping hole a few minutes later. By the time he was stroking the brunette’s cock in a steady rhythm while he buried his tongue in Bucky’s ass, Bucky was starting to fall apart.

“Steve, fuckin’ stop,” Bucky strained to say. He was writhing on the ground and releasing those low inhuman sounds from his throat with every few breaths, and honestly, Steve was surprised he’d even made it this long. If he thought all of the sensations were too much sometimes, it was easy to forget that for Bucky, it was about tenfold worse. Bucky shouted, “STOP!” aggressively, and Steve quickly pulled back.

Bucky panted loudly and shook his head, looking regretful. “M’sorry,” he said, reaching out for Steve. “M’sorry, m’sorry, I just… M’too close – I wanna come with you inside of me. C’mere, punk, get the fuck down here.”

Steve couldn’t help the tiny smile that spread across his face, curling the corners of his mouth up, as he draped himself back over Bucky and together, they helped Steve slide back into him. Within a minute, Steve found that perfect, building rhythm that had Bucky’s breaths getting higher in pitch and his loud moans closer together. Whenever Bucky cried out, the blonde would fuck all the way into him and then circle his hips, rubbing him up against his prostate over and over until Bucky was shouting so loudly and dragging his nails down Steve’s unblemished back that the skin sliced open in their wake and made him bleed.

His balls were starting to tighten so he fucked Bucky harder, faster – enough to seriously have injured someone before, but now, Bucky tilted his hips up and down and just met every thrust like it could never be too rough. Steve knew Bucky was almost over the edge as well; he didn’t need to hear it when he sensed it so keenly. He bit down into his bottom lip, grunting when the taste of his own blood got on his tongue. A crazed expression was taking over Bucky’s features - so fucking sexy, so fucking beautiful, and all Steve could think was, mine, mine, MINE.

He kissed him; dancing back and forth between Bucky sucking on his lip and then revelling in the growing sensations as their tongues fucked into each other’s mouths. Bucky started whimpering, higher and higher and louder and louder, until he suddenly shoved his forehead back to Steve’s and squeezed his eyes shut tight, breathing out, “M’gonna come, Steve…” Steve nodded, keeping his eyes on Bucky’s face. He wanted to watch. But then Bucky was jolting – falling over the ledge and spiralling into ecstasy – and suddenly shouting, “Oh, fuck! M’coming, fuck, Steve, fuck, please!”

Bucky’s eyes bulged from his head as his orgasm crashed over him. His cock erupted and started spurting come everywhere between their bellies, and then he was smiling… smiling and closing his eyes with his mouth hanging open and exhaling loud mixtures of moans and fucked-out, breathless chuckles as he was taken over by a high he had never known before.

Steve watched him orgasm with his mouth hanging open, thinking he would never be able to get enough. The spasms of Bucky’s body pushed Steve to his own climax only seconds later, pumping himself into Bucky.

The brunette whimpered softly as the chaos inside of them gradually began to drain away. Steve felt more and more like himself again and then pulled out of him slowly, Bucky sighing at the loss. He collapsed beside him only to feel the brunette gather him up in his arms and pull Steve against him. Cradling Steve’s head on his chest, Bucky petted through his hair and breathed out, “I love you. Thanks.”

“I lofe you, too. Dat vas...”

“I know.”

Steve closed his eyes, not even caring that his trousers were still hanging halfway down his thighs, much like Bucky didn’t seem to give a single damn that he was still out there in the open, stark naked. Bucky murmured, “Do you think it’ll always feel like that? So intense?”

“I do not know,” Steve answered honestly. He could still taste Bucky on his tongue. The lacerations on his back from Bucky’s nails had already healed themselves, but he could vaguely feel the drying blood running down his back. “I hope it does.”

Bucky hummed. “Me too. Don’t really know how I’m supposed to stop myself from fuckin’ you stupid left, right, and centre, though.”

Steve smiled to himself; shivering at the gentle pressure of Bucky’s fingertips massaging his scalp. “You ahre fery crude,” is all he could think to say.

“Get used to it,” Bucky replied. Steve could hear the smile in his voice about as easily as he could feel the peaceful calming of his body.

That is, until they heard a twig snap not that far from where they were. Immediately, they tensed and snapped up. Bucky eyes flashed in its direction and Steve was poised and ready to attack before he even knew it. But it wasn’t a human – just a deer. It looked over to them, equally as startled, and froze on the spot. Bucky seemed to relax a little; muttering something under his breath that Steve didn’t catch, before turning away and going to pick up his damp clothing to put them back on again.

“M’gonna go clean myself up,” Bucky told him as he did up his pants.

“Okay,” Steve replied distractedly, still having the staring contest with the deer. It backed away a bit at the sound of Bucky’s footsteps, but it didn’t run away. The crunching of boots in the snow get quieter the closer Bucky got to the stream; the further he was from them. Steve was alone with it now. He held its eyes as he reached down to redress himself. And he didn’t look away, waiting it out until the deer seemed to relax and trotted off deeper into the woods. As if the deer leaving unlocked something inside him, Steve broke. He unwrapped all the safeguards and opened all the compartments into which he had shoved his fears, his nightmares, his reality, over the many months he had been a prisoner. He let it all out. Overwhelmed, grief surged with every expelled breath, reaching higher and higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by his long intakes of the damp night air. Tears began to spill down his cheeks onto the ground. All pretence of quiet coping was lost and he sank to the damp ground, not caring about the night dew that quickly soaked him to the skin. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his shins; if he could just curl up into a ball, he wouldn't have to face real life, he would be protected from everything around him.

But he would still have to live with himself, with the wretched memories swirling around in his head. Steve's eyes, already red and puffy from crying, squeezed shut to push more tears out. He let his head fall down to his knees, and he pulled his legs closer. No matter what he did, there was nowhere he could hide from his own thoughts.

But then Bucky was there, kneeling in front of him. 

"Steve?" When he got no response he wrapped a big hand around the back of Steve's neck and tilted his head up. Bucky's face was etched with pain, for himself and for Steve. His grey-blue eyes were hard but open, searching the tear-streaked face before him.

"You ain't just my friend, Stevie, somewhere back there you became part of me, part of my soul. When life handed us this shit hand, you were all that got me through. You were the friendship, comfort, companion, love that I needed when I needed it and I don't know how I can ever thank you enough for that. But this fight ain't over, Stevie. Yea, we got fucked, big time; they took our lives from us, but that don't mean we gotta lay down and die. I ain't ready for that. But I need you, Stevie; I need you to fight with me. So let it out, get it sorted, but then come back to me."

As Bucky was talking to him, grounding him, the chaos inside of Steve gradually began to drain away and the panic-inducing haze began to lift. He started to feel more like himself and Bucky seemed to be able to tell. He settled down beside Steve and gathered him up in his arms. Cradling his head on his chest, Bucky stroked through his hair and dropped a kiss into his blonde hair, “I love you, you know? I'm still me. You're still you. Nothing those evil dicks did can change that."

Steve took a deep breath, "I lofe you, too. Dank you.”

Bucky just hummed. Steve closed his eyes, not even caring that they were both getting wet laying on the damp ground, he didn't feel cold and Bucky didn't seem to give a single damn about it either.

Bucky had evidently grabbed a small log when he went to the stream, because he shifted them both over toward the fire, and they used it to lean against so they could be more comfortable. They watched the flames while Bucky cradled Steve against him. Their dynamic was easy, simple. Steve had never had any male friends but he was pretty sure they didn't usually cuddle up together. They both needed it though, needed the comfort, the company, and the reassurance that the other was indeed there, safe, and alive. It felt right, like when he had snuggled up to his mother for warmth in the cold nights of winter. Bucky was a lot warmer than she had been though.

Steve shifted a bit to look up at Bucky and saw that the brunette had his eyes closed, head tilted back onto the log. Steve settled back into his chest, looking back to the fire and wrapping his arm around the other man.

It was strange, after so much time, and so much pain, Steve had started to believe that he would never feel comfort again, and yet, at that moment, he wasn't sure he had ever felt so peaceful. As time passed, one minute draining into the next, Steve's eyes drifted closed as well and he let his mind go blank. Right before sleep was about to take him, he felt Bucky tighten his grip around him as he whispered, “We're gonna be okay. M’never gonna let anything bad happen to you…”


	9. Chapter 9

As the weeks passed, they got used to their new reality. They traveled constantly, only staying in one place for a few nights at most to avoid drawing any more attention to themselves than they needed to. The Nazis would have found the burned facility and though Steve and Bucky didn't know if the experiment was widely known amongst the party, they didn't want to take the chance.

It was at night, a few days after their escape, in a bombed out church, that they finally made themselves sit and go through the files Steve had grabbed during their escape.

The X-rays showed very little, mostly white bones outlined with a darker substance. They did however, show them that Bucky's earlier assertion had been correct: they had, in fact been 'reinforced' throughout their entire skeleton.

The files were much more enlightening. They outlined every procedure, test, surgery and alteration that benergy performed.

Apparently, soon after Bucky had arrived, a serum called Unsterblichkeit, or Immortality, had been perfected. The files said that it was a highly augmented version of something called somatotropin, a hormone that stimulated growth, development and regeneration. Evidently, they had been injecting patients with various experimental versions until they finally found one that worked. They had used it on Steve repeatedly and when the growth did not occur fast enough, something called low-level laser therapy has been added. Between the two treatments, the Doctor had achieved success by encouraging muscle tissue to grow and regenerate at an extraordinary rate.

A problem had evidently arisen when they discovered that the bones, despite the fact that they had grown, were not strong enough to support the new growth well enough for their purposes. The files were frustratingly lax in explaining what those purposes were. Regardless, the team had found a solution by creating a stainless steel alloy that bonded successfully to collagen, the protein that made up bones. The alloy was able to withstand fifty times more force than natural human bone. There were many entries outlining procedures that involved cutting 'the patients' open to expose various bones and manually injecting the alloy where it was needed. The process was time consuming. Eventually they had developed a machine that would inject the alloy directly into each bone that required it without cutting through the skin at all.

A side effect of Immortality, the files said, was that both patients began to exhibit the ability to heal at an extraordinary rate. There were pages and pages detailing experiments that were run in order to determine the full extent of the healing ability. In Bucky's file, one experiment was circled in red ink:

Procedure 42-E: Following the amputation of the left arm at the humerus-ulna/radius joint, it was found that the tissue and bone failed to regenerate. Further experiments must be performed to determine the full extent of regeneration capabilities.

Procedure 42-F: The left arm was amputated at the scapula to allow for connection of model EX-7T. EX-7T was drilled into the scapula. Twin anchors for EX-7T were inserted into the spinal column at T2 and T4. Subject will be outfitted with model EX-7T for the foreseeable future.

After reading that entry, Bucky had stood up suddenly from the crumbling pew and disappeared into the recesses of the church. Steve had waited, patiently, for over an hour, listening to the loud  _snaps_ and _cracks_  as Bucky's fingers tore through whatever he could his hands on. Finally, he had returned, sat down, and the two had returned to the file as if nothing had happened.

The last major alteration was made when the Doctor hypothesized that the patients would not be able to perform as required if they were continually hampered by debilitating natural pain responses. This entry contained an extremely complicated diagram of a cylindrical device with a large bulb at one end. The device had a tube leading from each end. The notes and descriptions called the device a 'neural shunt' and explained that one of them had been implanted in each patients' brain stem, thalamus, and cerebral cortex. The devices intercepted pain signals from various parts of the body and effectively ‘turned off’ the pain response. The Doctor had made notes stating that sensation as a whole could not be removed in order to ensure the 'final product' would not be inhibited.

From what they could tell, their files were identical, save for the extensive section regarding Bucky's arm.

The final entry in Bucky's file spoke about the single electro therapy session he had gone through:

Procedure 51-A: Electro-shock therapy session one. The machine has been specifically calibrated to focus on the amygdala, as emotional entanglement, especially fear, is unnecessary, and the frontal lobe, in order to erase working memory.

The temporal lobe will be treated in future sessions in order to permanently eradicate recognition memory, which could prove disastrous for the subject's purposes. The caudate nucleus will also be activated in later sessions to assist with operant conditioning.

The cerebellum and basal ganglia as well as the hippocampus must be left unaltered as the subject must retain procedural memories, motor function, and must be able to form new memories to perform its tasks. Most importantly, the parietal and occipital lobes will receive no treatment at all. We must ensure that the subject's ability to mediate attention and receive and sort sensory information remains intact. We are confident that after as few as ten sessions, the subject will have no memories of before and no ability to form new long term memories.

Steve felt himself shut off after reading both of the files in their entirety. He sat, still as a statue, staring at the wall, for hours. Bucky let him be. He knew they both needed to come to grips with the reality of what had been done to them in whatever way suited them best. After two hours, however, Bucky had enough. He took Steve's hands in his own and pressed them to their chests, one over each of their hearts.

"Feel that, Stevie? You're still here. I'm still here. We got out. They didn't win. They didn't finish." He looked right into Steve's glazed over blue eyes and smiled sadly, "I still remember my ma, my sisters, even my dad. Far as I can tell, that one jolt didn't take anythin' from me. Nothin' important anyhow."

Steve's gaze dropped to his own hand, pressed over Bucky's heart, and he whimpered brokenly before collapsing into the brunette's lap. He cried for everything they had lost, and sent up prayers of thanks for all they had salvaged. While he cried, tucked into his best friends's lap, Bucky's flesh fingers carded through Steve's blonde hair.

When he was done, he was just...done. He felt empty. There was a silence to his sorrow now; it was the fall leaves under frost. He could feel the chill in his blood, coldness bringing the synapses of his brain to a stand still, but it would not consume him. Part of it was a pain, one he could endure, one he could breathe through day after day without falling to pieces under its weight. Bucky was his anaesthesia, his birdsong after the long, cold dark of winter. As long as Bucky was with him, alive and well, Steve could keep breathing.

Bucky worked through the reality of his nightmares in a more physical way. He tore buildings apart, uprooted trees, slaughters wild animals with his bare hands; anything he could do to make his adrenaline surge. He was grieving and Steve could see the emptiness he fought, the nothingness that occasionally took over and gripped his soul for a little while. It left him with a heavy look afterward, like the weight of the world was resting on his shoulders and there was nothing he could do to get out from under it. But Steve could see him working, day by day, to patch the hole in his psyche. Slowly, they each learned how to piece themselves back together again.

As they travelled, the full extent of what had been done to them became glaringly obvious, including things that the files had failed to mention and quite possibly hadn't known. Their reflexes were sharper and their agility was near a hundred times quicker than it had been before, if they put in the effort. They heard and saw and felt in ways no humans ever could. The two of them were at the literal peak of physical perfection; a peak no human could ever hope to reach. Stephan Roeder had never been deluded, so it didn't take all that long for him to admit to himself that he and Bucky were not entirely human, that they had lost most of what that in the fires of the facility.

Regardless, as they went, looting the supplies they needed from abandoned villages and camping in the forests and mountains of Poland, they healed, and as they did, they figured out a way to manage their new reality.

This is, until the day they found out about the prisoners.


	10. Chapter 10

**November 3rd, 1943 - Pultusk, Poland**

“Vhat do you plan to do – _valk_ to Warsaw?” Steve demanded while Bucky paced back and forth. The brunette was too frazzled to even look up when he answered factually, “If that’s what it takes.” 

Earlier, while on their way back from a food run, they had come across a small camp of soldiers talking about a science facility up in Warsaw. They had listened, hidden in the trees, as one soldier boasted about the torture the imprisoned American soldiers were facing. Steve had had to physically restrain Bucky to prevent him from attacking the group.

“You heard dat troop; dose soldiers ahre most likely dead by now,” he said, trying to reason with him. Bucky wasn't hearing it.

Steve was not trying to be cruel, but he could tell that was exactly how Bucky was taking it. He could also tell that he thought Steve was wrong.

“You don’t know that,” Bucky answered stubbornly, trying his hardest not to snap at his friend.

“Efen so, I ahm sure der ahllies ahre defising a shtrategy,” Steve continued. “If they detect any--

“By the time they're done that, it’ll be too late!” Bucky snapped. Steve didn't want to let him get hurt, caught, killed...he understood that. They had taken up permanent residence in each other’s lives, and he would do everything in his power to protect that, but he was damned if he was going to let people suffer when he could do something about it.

Bucky yanked on the leather jacket he’d nabbed from an abandoned store, grabbed his rucksack, and turned to leave. Steve called his name and followed him, but nothing he could say would make him change his mind, they both knew that.

Steve knew if he couldn't stop him, and he couldn't let him go alone. Somewhere in the span of a few single seconds, he knew he would have to help Bucky if he wanted him to survive. _In for a penny..._

"Ve do not haff to valk," Steve informed Bucky's back. "Vhen you shtormed off I heard dose soldiers mention der location uv a hangar. Ve could get a truck."

Bucky stopped and spun around with a smirk, grabbing the front of Steve’s jacket and pulling him in for a quick kiss, "Knew I could get ya to come."

Steve rolled his eyes, shaking his head, "Jerk!"

Bucky’s American slang were starting to invade his vocabulary.

They went at night. The hangar turned out to be a German base camp, and despite the added danger, it gave Steve an idea. He had Bucky wait in the tree line while he approached a two man scout team, faking a limp and holding his right arm at an odd angle.

"Bitte hilf mir!"  
*Help me please.*

The soldiers raised their guns on him but didn't fire as he limped closer. When Steve was close enough, he leapt at the first man, grabbed his rifle with both hands and drove it upward into his jaw. Lightning quick, he turned and used the rifle to crack the second man upside the head. Both fell to the ground, alive but unconscious. Steve grabbed them both by their collars and dragged them over to where Bucky crouched, waiting.

The two stripped the men quickly and donned their clothes. Bucky grimaced as the German uniform settled on his skin.

"I feel dirty," he told Steve. The blonde simply nodded and shrugged.

They used some rope from the rucksack to tie the two soldiers to a tree and taped their mouths. Grabbing their fallen weapons, the two marched off.

It was easy to get into the hanger, getting out was going to be the tricky bit. They sped in, sneaking past the guards without issue. By jimmying some wires under the steering wheel, Bucky had no trouble getting a truck to start. Bucky drove as Steve had no idea how. The blonde shifted uncomfortably as they approached a team of guards waiting at the exit.

One held up a hand while two more stepped in front of the truck.

"Halt. Wohin gehst du?" the first man asked, leaning in Steve's window to check the truck.  
*Stop. Where are you going?*

"Krakau, sie baten um weitere Männer," Steve replied, watching Bucky tense his grip on the steering wheel out of the corner of his eye. This was the most dangerous part of their haphazard plan. If the guard asked Bucky any question more complex than his name, the brunette wouldn't be able to answer.  
*Krakow, they have asked for more men.*

The guard squinted around the cab for a moment longer before kneeling to look under the vehicle. Apparently satisfied, he then circled the entire thing. He came around to Bucky's window, peered at him for a long moment, before finally signalling to his partners to move out of the way. He nodded to Steve and stepped back from the truck. Steve nodded back as Bucky shifted the truck back into gear.

It was only after a full five minutes down the road that Bucky released a long, shaky breathe. He glanced at Steve, who just grinned and settled back in his seat for the drive.

Steve knew that they were putting a lot on the line, doing this. Running into enemy territory, essentially unarmed, was quite the task. Even with their new skills, and heightened senses, there was no telling how useful they would prove to be once they were trying to dodge bullets.

The drive was entirely uneventful. Steve passed the time by thinking up possible escape scenarios if they were stopped by a road block. When he wasn't doing that, he simply watched the trees whizz by outside the window.

When they saw a cargo truck heading in what they knew was the right direction, Bucky pulled in behind it and followed nonchalantly. After that, it was only too easy to get to their destination, the science facility, since the line of trucks stopped right inside of the gates, allowing them to bypass the first round of security.

 _First round,_ operative words. There were many, _many_ men with guns milling about the place. Steve had to knock one out the moment Bucky pulled the vehicle to a stop. Slinging the rucksack onto his back and grabbing his rifle, Bucky slipped out of the driver's door and dropped to a crouch beside Steve on the hidden side of the vehicle. They locked eyes and Steve nodded once before they took off across the compound, managing to just barely zip past the enemy soldiers without raising any alarms.

They were able to breach the building without detection, and through every room, quickly and quietly removed every enemy obstacle in their path. Eventually, they came to a door that proved to be locked from the other side. The route was non-negotiable, since Bucky reasoned that the prisoners were being held captive in the underground floor, and from what they had seen, the corridor was the only way to access that section.

Steve shrugged and knocked casually on the door, steadfastly ignoring the flabbergasted look Bucky gave him, choosing instead to focus on knocking out the guy who came to open the door.

It was only when they finally located the prisoners, having miraculously made it all the way to the subterranean cells without causing chaos, that the commotion really began. Knocking out the single guard, Steve grabbed the keys for the cells while Bucky kept a lookout. So far, they were alone, their only company the imprisoned men below their feet.

“What? Come to get you rocks off, big boy?” he heard one of them sneer.

“Um…” Steve frowned, confused, before he remembered the uniform. For lack of a better response, he went with: “No.”

He heard an Englishman reply, but he was already turning on his heel and throwing the keys to Bucky, who took off for the stairs that would get him down to their level. Steve followed close behind, head on a swivel. Moving quickly, Bucky unlocked every cell he could find, opening the doors and letting the prisoners out.

“What – are we takin’ _everybody_?” a man in a bowler cap asked as the a cell was thrown open and a Japanese man stepped out.

There was a smart-alecky reply of, “I’m from _Fresno_ , Ace,” but Bucky spoke over them.

“Is there anybody else?” he asked. Steve gripped his rifle tighter; the longer they stayed in the facility, the slimmer their chances of pulling this off became. There must have been a response that Steve didn't catch because Bucky was speaking again.

“Alright. The tree line is northwest, eighty yards past the gate,” Bucky instructed them, turning to lead while Steve fell back to the rear.

They had apparently done an extremely efficient job of dispatching the soldiers on their way in since they were only met by a few stragglers. Steve jogged behind all the men, keeping Bucky's German military cap in sight at all times, following it out of the facility and across a clearing to the cover of the trees. Bucky stopped to make sure all the men had made it before dropping back to meet up with Steve. A quick glance, a short nod, and the two of them turned and took off deeper into the trees, leaving the rescued men to sort the rest out for themselves.

As they ran, Steve could feel the energy coming off his partner. When they finally stopped, finding a quiet place to rest for the night, Bucky finally looked at him properly, excitement lighting his eyes, and grinned. Steve's heart clenched with love for the man when he saw that Bucky looked properly happy for the first time since Steve had laid eyes upon him.

"We'll be fine. Just you wait, Stevie. We're gonna do great things together."


	11. Chapter 11

Bucky had been right, over the two years that followed, he and Steve managed to eke out a purpose, a rhyme and reason for their new existence.

Bucky, in general, adapted better than Steve. Despite the additional struggle of living with the mechanical arm, he seemed to encounter fewer moments of conflicting emotions and had an unfailing ability to see the positive side of things. The lifestyle they turned to was one that Bucky seemed to honestly enjoy.

It only took them a few months in the beginning to gain a handle on their new abilities. Several months after that and Bucky had worked out all the bugs and tricks to his new arm.

The months turned into a year, and that turned into two, and the war that had consumed the world raged on around them. No matter where they found themselves, Steve and Bucky found a way to ingratiate themselves into it. Whether they were interfering in battle strategy - Bucky liked to sneak into enemy encampments and steal battle plans to leave in allied camps - or interrupting more covert operations - they had happened upon an Italian regiment who had been planning the assassination of an influential English politician and had subsequently managed to thwart it - they always found ways to help.

Along the way, Steve came to grips with how quickly he had accepted his new role as a soldier, a killer. Bucky had been a warrior before, he had signed up for the job, but Steve had never been healthy enough to hold a gun, let along fight with one.

It was not that Steve _enjoyed_ killing, he didn't. It was just that as they traveled the lengths of Europe, he tended to dispose of the enemy rather enthusiastically whenever it was deemed necessary.

They had their own ways of doing things. At first, it had been clumsy and messy for the both of them. They would use their skills to assist on the battlefield or protect their own troops whenever possible. Doing this, they always seemed to leave a lot of confused and therefore vulnerable soldiers in their wake. More times than not, their direct interference in a battle led to more casualties than it spared.

The more they learned, and the more control they gained over themselves, the neater they could make things. They began to listen in on troop movements and plans, steal and drop important documents they came across, or disable the tactical leader of an operation early so the rest of the plan went off the rails. They learned to work on the sidelines, amongst the shadows, gently manipulating smaller, less noticeable pieces in order to steal the game.

Time passed, and despite their successes, the more they witnessed, the bitterer they became. Bucky took it harder than Steve. When they had to kill, the blonde always made it quick, giving the men fast and painless deaths. Bucky, though…

Steve couldn't forget, had to constantly remind himself that for Bucky, there was a huge aspect that was deeply personal. He had actually been a part of the war and their targets were men who had been opposite him on the battle field not long ago. They didn't wear the exact same faces, but they represented every soldier who shot at him or killed his friends.

Steve, who had lived in the midst of the war and had arguably been more affected by it initially, had never picked up a gun faced these men in battle.

The more jaded Bucky became, the more he stopped trying to make his kills quick and painless. Depending on his mood, he would sometimes be kind, and other times he wouldn't be.

Bucky had a knack for reading people; nine times out of ten, he could tell Steve who was dangerous, who was scared, and who was reckless in any battle they witnessed. So if Bucky felt the men they disposed of were guilty of something that merited extra punishment, their lives ended extremely unpleasantly.

Whenever they finished an assignment, they picked an empty home in a nearby town or holed up in the woods for the night, and talked. The only thing they never talked about how lonely they could get.

It was definitely the biggest drawback of the lives they now led; they always had to remain on the outskirts. They finally talked about it one night, the risk they both posed to the world. They reasoned that if anyone ever got their hands on them, they might be able to recreate whatever The Doctor had done. Neither man wanted to be responsible for unleashing a new form of soldier, a new form of war, onto the world. So they stayed hidden, only each other for company unless they counted the brief interactions with those they saved...or killed.

Steve couldn’t ask for a better companion, a better partner than Bucky, and he knew that he felt the same. Sometimes though, they missed people.

But the world couldn't know. They were too different, too distinct for this time of war; so they participated from the sidelines, where no one could see.


	12. Chapter 12

At the beginning of April 1945, Bucky and Steve were in Berlin when they overheard a discussion concerning the location of Adolf Hitler.

It was Bucky who decided that they were going to kill him. 

At first, Steve protested, arguing that they could not possibly accomplish such a task without being seen or worse, captured. Bucky just listened to his concerns with a blank expression and an arched eyebrow before he snapped and shouted, “Are you fuckin’ _kidding_ me, Steve? For nearly two years – two years – we’ve been takin’ out these dirtbags and suddenly we got the chance to take out the biggest dirtbag of ‘em all and now you wanna pump the brakes!?”

Unfortunately, he had a point and to add insult to injury, it was becoming clear that the war was nearing its final months. All the Allies seemed to need was a fire and what Bucky was suggesting was that they simply light the match. 

So Steve gave in, though he made sure to point out that they had to plan carefully, they couldn't risk being captured.

“It’s going to be documented, written down in history books. Ve can't be tied to it. Ve can't leave blood, fingerprints, nothing,“ he told Bucky.

The brunette cocked his head as he mulled over Steve's words. He shrugged, relenting, and pulled out a cigarette. Steve made a grabby motion with his index finger and thumb, so Bucky tossed one over to him as well, along with his pack of matches. After a long silence, he asked, “So what’s the plan then? You have any ideas?”

“Just vun,” Steve admitted, watching the smoke twirling and rising from the burning cherry. “But it vill be a miracle if ve pull it off.”

“Everything we do is a miracle,” Bucky smirked. “So lay it on me.”

Steve didn't respond right away. Were they really going to do this? _Were they actually going to kill Hitler?_ Then he remembered Krakow, the prisoners, his mother… and yes, they were.

“Alright, Sergeant, consider these your orders,” he said, his voice low and firm.

~~~

Just a few days before Hitler’s last birthday, the Russians made it to the edge of Berlin. They encountered resistance from the last remaining German defenders; however, since those were mostly old men, Hitler Youth, and policemen, it didn’t take long for the Russians to sweep past them.

The Soviets began to bombard Berlin and the onslaught was unrelenting. Despite the pressure, Hitler remained in his bunker rather than making a last minute escape attempt to his hideaway in the Alps. It was assumed that he remained because he worried that fleeing would mean capture and he was unwilling to risk that.

By April 24, the Soviets had the city completely surrounded and it appeared that escape was no longer an option.

On April 29th, just before midnight, Steve and Bucky approached the Führerbunker under cover of night. With their identification, flawless accents and military dress uniforms - Bucky with gloves on - they appeared to belong to the Führer's personal guard. The few soldiers who tried to stop them were met with the muted spit of Bucky's pistol or the razored edge of Steve's hunting knife.

The guards slumped to the dirt while Steve and Bucky didn't even break stride.

They entered the lower level through the back garden door, easily breaking the thick padlock with a well-placed kick, and slipped down the stairs without further obstacles. They emerged in the conference room which was, thankfully, empty that late at night.

Bucky knelt and opened his bag, pulling out two grenades. He walked on silent feet to the blast-proof door on the right side of the room. Pulling the pins on the explosives, he opened the door _just enough_ to hurl them through. He then braced himself against the doorframe, holding the handle tightly with his metal hand to prevent anyone who might be on the other side from escaping.

Steve sheathed the knife and pulled out his gun, training it on the door they had come through, the one whose stairs led all the way to the upper level. He felt Bucky do the same behind him, one hand still firmly attached to the door handle. When they heard the blast, the guards would come from the upper floor to protect their Führer while Hitler remained ensconced within his private quarters with his personal guards.

BOOM! The metal door shuddered slightly but held as the bomb detonated. Bucky let go and trained his full attention on the other door.

Moments later, the heavy sound of clomping feet descended the stairs. The door flew open and Steve didn't hesitate. The first guards were downed before they could step fully through the door. The rest attempted to rush over their fallen companions.

 _Crack!_ Steve aimed a hard kick into a man's sternum, knocking him backward into the stairwell and bowling over a few of his buddies in the process.

Before they could gather themselves, Bucky emptied a clip into the mass of bodies. The few that managed to slip through the torrent of bullets were despatched easily by Steve.

The fight was over before it began.

As the last guard hit the floor, Bucky turned and raised an eyebrow at Steve, a playful grin pulling at the corners of his lips. Steve rolled his eyes and jerked his head for the other man to follow.

The office was engulfed in flames as they ran in to meet the half-dozen personal guards who had poured in from the sitting room just adjacent.

Guns and knives, like extensions of their bodies, were used with the same deadly precision as their feet and their fists.

The air sizzled and crackled around him as Steve twisted and bent, ducking around and away from attacks.

He felt as if his enemies were moving in slow motion. He was able to stop and block hits almost before they began, let alone landed. He took his eye off his target for a split second to check Bucky's status and in that moment, a stray bullet hit Steve's thigh and ripped through the muscle. There was no pain, but the torn muscle brought him down to one knee.

He only had time to look up and see the barrel of a gun pointed at his head. Steve met the soldier's eyes briefly as the man pulled the the trigger.  
  
CLICK. Empty.

Steve rolled, reaching for the man's legs to bring him down when a kick caught him in the jaw, disorienting him. Another gun was levelled at his face and he braced himself for the shot.

None came. The soldier had frozen, obviously sensing something was wrong. Steve watched him scan the room littered with the bleeding bodies of his troop…no Bucky.

Realizing the imminent threat, the man whirled around and turned straight into the muzzle of a gun jammed right against his head.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Bucky fired three shots and the man's body flew backward with a flash of mercurial light. Bucky was at Steve's side in the next moment.

"Thanks," Steve swiped a hand over his thigh, grimacing at the bright smear of red.  
  
"You're bleeding," Bucky's brow was furrowed as he bent to check the leg. Steve's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Bullet vent straight through. It's already healed," Steve pulled the torn fabric of his pant leg aside to display the unbroken flesh underneath. "See? I'm fine."

Bucky exhaled, clearly relieved, and swiped a grimy thumb over Steve’s cheek in a quick tender gesture. Despite the fact that they appeared to be indestructible so far, the limits of their new abilities had not been determined, and neither of them were particularly eager to find those limits.

After Steve had retrieved the bullet coated in his blood and made sure no stray drops had landed on the ground, they walked through the far door, crossed the small sitting room, and came to the locked door beyond which they knew Hitler's bedroom lay. Bucky crushed the lock in his left hand and kicked open the door, pistol drawn and ready for more guards.

But there were none. The only inhabitants of the room were Eva Braun and Adolf Hitler. They grabbed the Germans and pulled them over to a small settee, pushing them firmly into the seat. Steve stood behind them with a strong hand on each of their shoulders.

The woman was terrified; she did little more than cower on the settee and beg through her tears for them to spare their lives. Bucky didn't give her a single glance. Steve had a bit more sympathy for her and once – just once – encouraged her to leave. At her insistence that she remain by her new husband's side, Steve simply pursed his lips and said, "Wenn das dein Wunsch ist."  
*If that is your wish.*

Eva cried quietly and asked Steve if he was a religious man.

“Don’t answer that, Steve,” Bucky muttered in English.

Steve gave him a look before replying, “Ja, bin ich."  
*Yes, I am.*

Bucky grit his teeth as the woman attempted to reason with Steve, insisting that a man of God would not be committing such acts. But Steve didn't show a hint of doubt or guilt for their actions. As she begged, he felt anger coil in the pit of his stomach, curling up his chest in a spiral of rage. He would never attack a woman, but fuck her, how dare she stoop that low to save her skin. Hitler, who had been stoically silent until now, latched onto his wife's pleas, and him, Steve didn't hesitate with.

“Du sprichst nicht!" he hissed in a dangerously low tone, hand gripping the man’s jaw tightly, forcing his neck into an awkward angle. He directed his next words to the both of them, “Sie beurteilen uns nicht. Nicht mit dem, was du getan hast!"  
*You do not speak!  
You do not get to judge us. Not with what you have done.*

He took a breath and stepped back, calming himself, “Wir können für dich beten," he said to Eva. His eyes were steel and his voice was cold, “Aber das ist alles."  
*We can pray for you.  
But that's all.*

With that, Steve stepped up beside Bucky, and with the Führer and his new bride cowering on the couch, they aimed their guns at the Germans' heads.

"Das ist für deine Sünden." The two men crossed themselves before repeating a simple prayer.  
*This is for your sins.*

With two quick shots, the lives before them were ended. For good measure, Bucky leaned down to confirm the kill. Nodding to his companion, they turned and ran back through the bunker, leaving the sea of carnage in their wake.

They were passed by the invading Soviets, out of the city, within the hour but they didn't stop until they found the nearest abandoned town. It was still dark but they had decided beforehand that it was best for them to rest for a few hours before travelling further away from Berlin.

Both men were silent as they found themselves an empty home. It must have been evacuated relatively recently since the smell of neglect and disuse had not yet had the chance to cling to everything. They headed to the nearest bedroom without saying a word.

When they got inside, Bucky closed the door and turned to Steve. The look on his face was haunting. He opened and closed his mouth, seeming to change his mind each time, before he made a frustrated sound and turned away from Steve's gaze. The blonde was across the room before he could think, wrapping his arms around his friend and pulling him into a tight embrace. Bucky tensed immediately but Steve didn't let go.

“Ve did it, Buck,” Steve whispered, tightening his hold on the brunette, "It's over." Bucky sagged against him, burying his face in his neck snd wrapping his own arms around Steve's back. Steve could feel the tears as they wet his neck.

Whenever Bucky cried there was a rawness to it, his pain an open, gaping wound. He held onto Steve and his whole body shook. The sobs were stifled at first as he attempted to hide them, but as he was overcome by wave after wave of emotion and he broke down entirely, all his defences washed away by the salty tears.

When he at last looked up at Steve, his face was a picture of relief, loss, devastation. It was the face of one who had suffered unspeakably and hadn't known until that moment whether or not it would ever end.

With that look, Steve felt something loosen within himself and he shuddered. Bucky tightened his grip on him and repeated Steve's words back to him, his voice strained.

Whether it lasted for minutes or hours, neither could say, but they stood there for a long time, reassuring each other. Steve kept repeating the assurance under his breath as he held Bucky tighter and his own tears streamed heavier.

He was wrought with conflicting emotion; in pain but not for what they had done. Perhaps it made it worse but he _couldn't_ feel bad. He just felt...free. He felt as though he had finally let go of something his former self had been clinging to.

Even though the dawn was still some time away, there was a light in his heart that had been missing just hours before. Right then it was just a spark, a ray of sunshine yet to be born, but it was present and he could feel its beginnings. Perhaps it was hope, anticipation of things to come but whatever it was, it was a feeling he hadn't had in so long that it felt almost as foreign as it was welcome.

It was as he stood there, quiet now, clutching his best friend like a lifeline, that Stephan Roeder finally found his peace.


	13. Chapter 13

**March 5, 1953 ~ Moscow**

In the back of an enormous church, in the last pew, two young men knelt on the cold, stone floor. A visiting priest was finishing the delivery of the Lord’s Prayer.

The two men did not stand to sing, nor did they offer signs of peace when told, but they prayed. They gripped and rubbed their rosaries. They muttered their words in Latin throughout the Russian service.

They both had their heads bowed low, there faces masked in shadow. They were shrouded in thick waist length navy P-coats, dark slacks and worn leather boots. Neither looked up when the Father dismissed the young priest.

"Благодарим вас отец Netsvetov, предстоящие все время в городе будет наш гость динамик сегодня. Я надеюсь вы можете  
найти в нашей Церкви по вашему вкусу."  
*Thank you Father Netsvetov, for coming all the way across town to be our guest speaker today. I hope you found our church to your liking*

Netsvetov took his seat on the alter alongside the regular priests of the church. He watched as the men suddenly stood, as all others remained seated. Each church goer between them and the aisle shifted their position to allow the men passage, as if on command. The two turned and began to stride for the altar, eyes down, determined.

Netsvetov was taken aback as he scanned the congregation, amazed to find that he was the only one who thought this out of the ordinary.

The Father began his sermon. Netsvetov rose to stop this disgraceful disturbance.

The elder clergyman found Netsvetov's arm, keeping him seated while shaking his head. Netsvetov's confusion gave way to awe as he watched the men step onto the altar, brush by the six seated priests, and approach the enormous crucifix.

They both fell to their knees and kissed the feet of Christ. They then rose and as abruptly as they came, turned and headed back down the aisle for the front door. They stopped at the rear of the church, turning to listen to the sermon.

The Father was speaking loudly, authoritatively.

"...и я вспоминаю этот священный день печальная история Anatolia Kreplavich. Это плохой душа, увидев снова и снова для справки, но никто не ответил ей вызовов. Хотя люди видят не один так много как называется. Ее нападавший протирать кровавого ножа на ее безжизненными мало органа. Они смотрели как он просто ушли. Никто не хочет принимать участие. Никто не хочет занять позицию... Нам следует опасаться того зла мужчин и борьбы с ними в связи с этим мы должны действительно гвардия против, мы должны страха ...является безразличие хорошие мужчины."  
*and I am reminded on this holy day of the sad story of Anatolia Kreplavich. This poor soul cried out time and time again for help but no person answered her calls. Though people saw, not one so much as called. Her assailant wiped the bloody knife off on her lifeless little body. They watched as he simply walked away. Nobody wanted to get involved. Nobody wanted to take a stand... We must fear evil men and deal with them accordingly but what we must truly guard against, what we must fear...Is the indifference of good men*

At that, the two men turned and walked out the door.

On the church steps, the morning sun assaulted them brutally after the cool, dark of the church. The men put on dark glasses and paused at the top of the steps to light up their cigarettes. They both rolled the butts along their tongues and screwed them into their lips. In the unique way they lit up, they were seemingly oblivious to their synchronicity.

"I do believe the good Father finally got the point," Steve commented in English, looking to his companion.

Bucky blew out a coil of smoke and nodded.

"'Bout time."

They descended the steps and turned off down a shady side street.

~~~

That evening, they walked down ul. Veredaeva towards the Kuntsevo Dacha. They stopped on the corner and stood on the sidewalk to finish their cigarettes, each carrying a mid-sized, black bag. They were quiet, each refusing to look at the other. Steve scanned the exterior of the Dacha from across the street. The elite of Russia used to enter and exit the personal residence but not anymore, not since the resident’s paranoia had taken hold. Bucky glanced at his pocket watch.

"8:45," he told the blonde, and got a distracted nod in response.

They circled around the side, where Steve didn't hesitate before crouching and leaping into the air, grabbing a ledge built into the green wall and pulling himself easily onto the first balcony. He lay flat, unseen, while he waited for his partner.

Bucky raised an eyebrow as he watched Steve haul himself up. He looked at the tall oak tree standing ten feet off to the side and grinned. He ran for it, scaling the tree quickly, nimble feet taking him across a thick branch until he leapt gracefully across the gap and landed in a crouch next to Steve.

The blonde rolled his eyes, "Show off."

Bucky grinned but the amusement in his grey-blue eyes quickly bled into concentration. They stood and ran silently across the balcony and used a drainpipe on the wall to scale up to roof. Checking the schematic of the building in his mind, Steve led Bucky to the emergency access panel they needed to get inside. He wrapped his fingers under the grating and pulled, the metal groaning loudly before giving in. Steve tossed the grate aside.

"Nervous?"

Bucky grimaced. He sometimes hated that Steve could read him as well as he could, "A bit.'

"Me, too."

They opened their bags and rummaged through them, suiting up with black gloves and black masks. They strapped on pistols in shoulder holsters, under each arm and Bucky took a large coil of black rope and draped it around himself. Steve looked at him and at the other rope in his bag. He was too excited to argue much.

"You and your fucking rope,” but he put it on. As one, they dropped to their knees, making the sign of the cross. Then, down through the ceiling they went.

And landed on top of an small elevator before a long air shaft.

Bucky smirked, "See. I told you there'd be a shaft."

Steve shook his head, "Just like in the movies."

They climbed into it and started crawling with Steve in front and Bucky behind. After a few minutes, they knew they were in the right spot.

They could hear their target standing in the middle of a room. Doing a quick count, Steve held up eight fingers over his shoulder to Bucky. Eight guards, and from what he could hear, they were seated on something, a sofa perhaps, surrounding the target. They spoke in Russian, a language he understood, but Steve didn't even bother to listen. It didn't matter what they were saying. The target was yelling; he was clearly upset about something. Really, Steve thought, when was this man not upset about something.

The target was really yelling now. He was screaming and from the snippets Steve was paying attention to, seemed to be addressing each man in turn about some vital meeting.

The men were silent, seeming to take the dressing down seriously.

Drenched with sweat, Bucky crawled up next to Steve. There was barely enough room for them to lie on their sides facing each other.

Steve frowned at him, "What the fuck are you doing?"

"I don't wanna stare at your ass all night."

"Fuck off. You know you love the view," Steve quipped before his tone hardened. "We're doing some serious shit here. Now, get your head together.

But Bucky was in a mood, "Punk."

"Punk!? I'm not the rope-toting asshole who just had to get us involved in this fucking nightmare of a situation."

"Asshole, huh? Maybe you should watch your mouth, Stevie, unless you want to find a better use for it."

The blonde released a hiss through his teeth and the two were suddenly in a close quarters battle for dominance. It happened sometimes, when they were too hyped up; they were each other's only company and sometimes their co-habitation led to short, aggressive spats. The spats always ended with one of them pinning the other before the inevitable lust took over. It had never happened in a situation quite like this though. The occasional insult was thrown but it was mostly growls as hands grabbed and feet attempted to kick within the confines of the shaft. Neither man noticed that they had begun to get tangled in their own rope. Metal screeched and they both froze, eyes wide, just before the seam of the shaft broke and they fell out in a tangled mess of rope.

They crashed through the ceiling right above their targets' head. The rope got caught around their ankles and must have snagged on the shaft because they were slammed suddenly to a halt, hanging upside down, back to back about six feet above the floor. Steve sighed as they began turning slowly in a circle. The target had hit the ground when they came through and was now balled up in the fetal position on the floor. The shocked Soviets were frozen for only a moment in panic before Steve and Bucky reacted, reaching for their guns. The guards reached for theirs as well, but it was too late; the boys drew their pistols and fired as they spun, taking four shots apiece.

Chests exploded as they fell back on the u-shaped sofa, one victim tripping backward over it as he was hit. There were suddenly eight dead Soviets strewn around the room.

Everyone else taken care of, both men seemed to notice the target directly beneath them. Bucky grabbed a knife off his utility belt and reached up to cut the rope. They both flipped and landed on their feet before stepping over to the doomed man and pushing him to his knees. They each put a gun to the back of his head.

"In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit."

The twin explosions from their guns echoed through the suddenly silent room and Joseph Stalin fell to the floor, dead.

Bucky grinned at Steve, their earlier conflict forgotten. Steve forced himself to smile back. He never felt quite right about the things they did until they finished their ritual. Bucky caught his hesitant smile and understood immediately. He nodded and they each took out their rosaries, slowly walking around, mumbling prayers as they cared for the dead men. They gently turned over the bodies that were on their stomachs. They brushed the hair back from their faces. They drew the sign of the cross on their foreheads. They did nothing for Stalin; he had been the target, the guilty one, the others were unfortunate casualties of their mission. There were always casualties.

When they finished their ritual for each fallen man, they pulled off their masks and looked at each other. Steve couldn't help but grin as he looked around. Bucky started chuckling and soon they had worked each other into a healthy laugh.

Steve clapped his partner on the shoulder, "That was some good fucking rope."

They both laughed.

Bucky brushed tears of mirth from his eyes and commented, "That was way easier than I thought it would be."

"Yea."

"In the pictures ya always get that asshole that jumps behind the sofa."

"Yeah, and you have to at him for ten fucking minutes."

Bucky couldn't seem to stop grinning, "Oh, we're good."

Steve laughed, "Yes, we are."

Something drew the brunette's eye and he made a beeline across the room. Steve followed and his jaw dropped open as he took the sight of a suitcase full of money.

Bucky picked up a wad of bills, "I love our new job."

Just then, there was a knock at the door. _Fuck_. There was no way that the chaos in the room would have gone unheard but they had been relying on Stalin's newfound paranoia and had made the assumption that those in the room with him were the only people occupying the residence. Snapping into action, Bucky grabbed the suitcase and ran to the balcony, Steve following close behind. They unlatched the doors and stepped out. Bucky turned to Steve, "We should separate and meet back at the hotel in an hour. Too much heat from this one."

The blonde shook his head, "No, let's stick to the plan. Everything always goes off the rails when we improvise. Do I need to remind you of what happened in Lüneburg?"

Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the guilty expression that crossed his face.

In ’45, after they had set up and killed Hitler and Eva Braun, they had tracked Heinrich Himmler, the Reichsfürer of the SS, to Lüneburg in Lower Saxony. They formulated a plan similar to the one they had used to deal with Hitler but it had all gone pear-shaped when they read in the paper that Himmler had been responsible for the deaths of some millions of people. Bucky flew into a rage, declaring that a bullet was too good for the man. He took off, Steve hot on his heels, and attacked Himmler in the house he was hiding out in. He sliced open the major artery in the man's leg just enough that the Nazi wouldn't die right away.

It took over an hour, and the entire time Himmler listened to Bucky hiss promises of what his afterlife would look like, feel like. Fuming, Steve simply pulled a book from one of the shelves and read in a chair while he waited. When the man finally died, the room was absolutely drenched in his blood, and the body was covered in Bucky's bloody fingerprints along with God knew what else. They had no choice but to burn the body and the house along with it to cover up the evidence of their presence in the house; they couldn't be found. Steve made sure to leave enough scorched evidence behind that whoever investigated the scene would have no doubt who the burnt corpse was, so there wasn't that much harm done, but he was still furious at his companion.

Steve felt bad for bringing it up and he let a warm smile play across his lips and gave Bucky a quick kiss so he would know that there were no hard feelings. After a moment of what Steve could feel was self-derision, Bucky relaxed, smiled back and nodded, "As much as I'd love to reminisce, we gotta get outta here…now."  
  
Steve held open his black bag for Bucky to drop the money into and slung it onto his back. The two then leapt from the balcony and took off running into the dark.


	14. Chapter 14

**January 4, 1954 ~ Outside of Lucerne**

"Did you know that cigarettes caused cancer?" Bucky called from where he lay in the bedroom of the tiny, abandoned apartment. Steve stepped out of the bathroom, only a threadbare towel slung around his hips. He brushed his teeth with the baking soda mix he found under the sink and watched Bucky as he read the morning paper. Steve spat into the sink and gargled before coming out and flopping onto the bed next to his best friend.

"Do they?" He made grabby fingers at the cigarette Bucky held in his left hand and the brunette laughed, handing it over. Steve took a deep drag, leaned over his laughing friend and blew the smoke into his face in one long stream.

He cackled at Bucky’s face, kicking him off the bed, but Bucky just jumped to his feet.

Steve leaned against the headboard, drawing on the cigarette a few more times before flicking it at Bucky, who stood at the end of the bed. He looked his partner over. Bucky, with his metal arm on display in his relaxed state, still looked the same as he had over ten years ago when Steve had pulled him out of the facility. Neither of them had aged a day. When they had realized this, about two years prior, it had been easier to accept than Steve might have expected. Neither of them had family any longer, or friends other than each other. The idea of immortality was potentially daunting, sure, but without attachments to the mortal coil, it was a surprisingly easy pill to swallow.

"Not exactly like they're going to hurt us," Steve grinned up at the scowling brunette.

"I know. But that was my last one."

Steve stuck out his bottom lip in a mocking pouty face. Bucky raised an eyebrow and his grey-blue eyes took on a dangerous glint, "You wanna play, blondie?" With that, he tackled his grinning lover off the bed.


	15. Chapter 15

**May 11, 1960 ~ Buenos Aires, Argentina**

The bar was packed to the walls with drunken tourists, a lot of faces recognizable from around the city. Bucky was in front of the bar, perched on a stool. He and the bartender were locked in a staring contest, silently goading the other to give in. Bucky had his hands on the chests of Steve and another patron, holding them in place. Spectators were gathered around the two, clearly interested in the competition.

Bucky, without breaking eye contact, imitated the bartender's voice, "Would someone please come over here and..."

The bartender flinched involuntarily and replied, "Fuck!"

Bucky didn't miss a beat, "me up the..."

"Ass!"

Everyone fell down laughing while the bartender started throwing ice at Bucky, which he dodged, laughing hardest of all.

Steve and Bucky had been in Buenos Aires for almost two months, claiming to be American soldiers on leave; the best lies were the ones closest to the truth and since Steve had long ago learned to mask his natural German accent, it played well. They had made a number of pseudo-friends during their stay, first and foremost the bartender, an American retiree with Tourette’s syndrome who went by the name Duck. The old man had come down to Argentina with the sole purpose of opening a bar, his life’s dream evidently.

As everyone laughed, Mateo, a bar regular, made his way through the crowd. He was a younger man, a labourer, and came in to blow off steam at the end of a shift. He sidled up to the bar and called to Duck - Duck refused to learn more Spanish than he needed to and insisted everyone speak English in his bar.

"Hey! Fuck Ass! Get me a beer!"

This sent everyone even further into hysterics and Duck threw two huge fistfuls of ice at Mateo. The man backed away, laughing.

Steve and Bucky greeted him and the big group of men settled down at one of the booths to commence drinking.

Hours later, the bar was a mess from the day; mostly empty except for Steve, Bucky, Mateo, Duck and four friends. Everyone was drunk, including Duck.

Mateo was attempting to get Steve to understand something, "...It's not that I'm homophobic. I'm just afraid of faggots."

Steve paused, then burst out laughing.

"You know what they say; P-People in glass houses s-sink ships," Duck interjected.

Everyone turned to look at him, quizzical looks on their faces.

Steve snorted, "Duck, I gotta get you a proverb book or something. This mix and match shit is no good.

The bartender looked puzzled, "What?"

Everyone chuckled and Bucky raised a hand, clearing his throat, "A p-penny saved is worth two in the b-bush."

"Don't c-cross the road if ya can't get out of the kitchen," Steve joined in.

Everyone laughed heartily. Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky saw three men in stiff suits enter the bar. He exchanged a glance with Steve at the sight of one, a man who went by the name Ricardo Klement. The men walked over to their group, Klement in front. They clearly had business to discuss and the familiar atmosphere in the bar died quickly.

Klement plastered on an oily smile that didn't reach his eyes, "I am Ricardo Klement and you will be leaving now. We have business to discuss alone with Mr...Duck." His accent was well-designed and his lip curled slightly on the last word.

Bucky raised an eyebrow and took a long pull of his beer.

"That is not happening, friend... you see, we had a long day o' work today and we need our relaxation..." he turned to look Klement up and down before giving him a filthy smirk, "Unless you and your goons here want to help us relieve stress some other way..." He grabbed his crotch and made smootchy noises at the men. Steve rolled his eyes while their friends jeered. Klement didn't find it so funny.

"Oh, how extraordinary. A group of drunks being drunks. How original. I am in no mood for discussion." He pointed at Duck, "You! You stay. The rest of you, go now."

Duck huffed and waved a hand, "Why don't you make like a t-tree and get the fuck outta here!"

The locals rolled their eyes at Duck's blunder. Steve put a hand on Duck's arm, "Calm down, man. I'm sure they're reasonable fellows."

He and Bucky each grabbed a beer and a shot and turned to approach the men with the peace offering.

“Listen fellas, you know he's got 'til the week's end for rent. Ya don't have to be hard asses, do ya?" Bucky asked.

"You insult me. I would never drink that sewage. Especially with you people. You are fools," Klement sneered, slapping the beers to the floor and spitting at Steve and Bucky's feet

He continued, "This is no game! If you won't go, we will make you!"

The boys looked at each other, they still held the shots.

Steve frowned, "If you want a fight, you can see you're outnumbered. We're trying to be civil here, so I suggest you take our offer."

"I make the offers," Klement was seething now, his natural accent bleeding through his carefully built facade.

Mateo pushed out of his seat, clearly having had enough. He stepped between Steve and Bucky, "Hey, there papi. What would you say if I told you that your pinko, commie mother sucked so much dick..."

WHAM!

One of Klement's goons punched Mateo in the face. The man was down and out before anyone else could react. Steve and Bucky's faces turned to stone.

"Das war nicht höflich," Steve said, his voice low and dangerous.  
*That was not polite*

Bucky nodded slowly, "Ich fürchte, das können wir nicht zulassen, Ricky."  
*I'm afraid we can not allow that, Ricky*

Klement was completely taken aback and if the other patrons' faces were a good indicator, they were fairly stunned as well.

Steve raised a eyebrow at Bucky.

"Я думаю сейчас самое подходящее время."  
*I think now is the right time*

They clinked the shot glasses together and threw back the liquor before they balled the thick glasses in their fists, each dropped to a knee and delivered devastating blows to each of Klement's quads, Bucky on the left, Steve on the right. The man dropped like a sack of flour, writhing on the floor.

The boy's each took a goon as their companions began kicking and spitting on Klement. It was a bar brawl, and lots of punches didn't connect, but still, Steve managed to dismantle his man quickly. A quick glance told him Bucky was still fighting. All the others tried to jump in and help but Steve jumped forward, pushing them back.

"Let him be. He knows what the fuck he's doing!"

They all backed off and started to cheer him on as Bucky and the man tried to rip each other apart. The goon backed Bucky against a wall - rather, Bucky let himself be walked backwards - before he pulled back, obviously exhausted, for one good punch. Bucky reached up behind his head with both hands and pulled two bottles of wine from a wall rack. He swung them toward each other with the man's head as the mid-point. The bottles haphazardly connected, one on each side of his head, and the man crumpled to the ground in an explosion of glass and wine.

There was a long silence before Steve whooped, "Nicely done, Buck!"

They quickly had Ricardo Klement - or, as the international warrants named him, Adolf Eichmann - tied down to a chair. The man who had been in charge of implementing Hitler's Final Solution for the Jewish people was finally at their mercy.

Steve stood before Eichmann with an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. He poured bourbon all over the Nazi's head, smirking as the man sputtered and spat under the deluge. The bar patrons cheered while Mateo, newly recovered, approached and punched Eichmann in the face.

Two of their friends subdued him before he could do any real damage but everyone laughed throatily.

No one but Bucky paid any attention to the way Steve's eyes gleamed with malice and undiluted hatred. The brunette moved so he stood in between Steve and the rest of the men.

"Now, like my fine friend said, we cannot stand for your behaviour, past or present," Steve told him.

Eichmann's eyes widened as he realized exactly what Steve meant. His mouth opened, probably to beg for his life, but another look at Steve's face had it closing again with a click.  
  
"Adolf Eichmann, Betrachte dies deine Strafe für deine Verbrechen gegen die Menschlichkeit."  
*Adolf Eichmann, consider this your sentence for your crimes against humanity*  
  
The bystanders looked at each other in confusion, but Steve ignored them, lighting his cigarette and tossing the lit match on Eichmann's head. He recited their prayer, hearing Bucky join in quickly.

"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

The liquor was ablaze and Eichmann was screaming and struggling against his bonds in seconds. A few of the onlookers stood stunned, but most leapt to 'Klement's' aid. Bucky let them, moving to stand beside Steve. The men tried furiously to put Eichmann out while Duck turned to Steve, grabbed his shirt and shook the bigger man ineffectually.

"The f-fuck are you doing? You trying to kill him, boy?" Duck screamed at Steve, his eyes wide and horrified.

Steve blinked twice, looking down at the older man with an expression that said that might be the strangest question he'd ever heard.

He nodded slowly, "Yes."

With that, he pulled a pistol from the waistband of his pants and before anyone could react, shot the still burning Eichmann in the head.


	16. Chapter 16

**November 22, 1963 ~ Dallas, Texas, USA**

Steve sat on the sofa in his and Bucky’s room at the Magnolia Hotel. His hands shook where they rested loosely on his thighs. All he could hear was white noise, his mind running through the events of the morning on a continuous loop.

They had managed to eliminate all the Nazis who had managed to wiggle out of justice's grip and Bucky had convinced Steve that they should pay a visit to the United States. Initially, Steve had hesitated. While he knew his friend would not be easily deterred, he had been reluctant to risk air travel with its security protocols and restricted quarters. He hadn't liked the idea of being trapped in a steel cage hurtling across the ocean at 35 000 feet. In the end, Bucky had convinced him with his constant whining about missing his home country. Steve had agreed on the condition that they go nowhere near New York, where Bucky's mother and sisters still lived. Bucky had been quiet for a long time at that but he finally agreed, even though it clearly broke something inside him to do so.

So they found themselves in Dallas, walking down a street still damp with the previous night's rain. Steve stretched out his arms into the warm morning. He always knew that it would be a fine day when he couldn't feel the temperature of the air. After the long, brutally cold winters of Europe, Steve was always childishly excited about a warm November day. Bucky kept grinning at him every time he sighed happily or swung his arms a bit more than strictly necessary. Above them, the sky was blue with just a few stratus clouds making their unhurried way toward the ocean. The sun was already a friendly ball of yellow above, promising more heat as the day progressed.

They had checked into a hotel room for once, seeing as they had quite a bit of money these days and nothing else to really spend it on. As with Stalin, they had managed to ‘appropriate’ properties from most of their targets over the years. By investing carefully and living frugally, they managed to live mostly off of the interest that their now substantial accounts accrued.

The city was packed, since news of the President's visit was bringing everyone out into the streets. Bucky had insisted that they see President Kennedy, even from afar. Since the last president Bucky had lived under had been Franklin Roosevelt, he was very excited by the young catholic president.

They hadn't found the main crowds until they hit Main Street, where people were packed shoulder to shoulder along the street and up onto the sloping hillsides. Instead of braving the insanity at the roadside, they had continued on for a ways, content to walk and find a slightly less crowded area to wait for the motorcade.

From his hotel room, Steve remembered the crowd’s roar when the motorcade had finally arrived in the downtown area. From the reaction of the people to the president and Mrs. Kennedy, it seemed that the man was a rather popular president. It was a new idea; Steve wasn't used to overly friendly or popular politicians. When he had mentioned this to Bucky, the brunette had snorted, replying, "No shit, Sherlock," causing Steve let out a full belly laugh at the look on his friend’s face.

They had settled in to watch the motorcade on a grassy hill. The crowds’ cheers had increased as the cars and motorcycle escorts got closer and closer. With the cheers, the crowd, the noise, Steve had felt excitement well up in his own chest as well. Sure, it wasn't _his_ president, but the adoration and excitement of the American people had been contagious. Everyone had seemed to hold their breathe in the last few seconds before the motorcade came into view. They stood waiting until it did and the crowd around them had gone wild.

As the car drove along, Kennedy waving happily to the people while a woman dressed in pink - his wife - sat next to him, looking pretty and prim. Steve had noticed another limousine directly behind the president’s car; an old Cadillac with running boards attached on the sides. Two men stood on each of the running boards, and Steve had seen another three or four of them inside the car.

"Secret Service," Bucky had informed him, following Steve's gaze. "They protect the President."

It had been in that moment that Steve heard the noise. He recognized it instantly for what it was; a rifle shot. Instinctively, he had whirled, but seeing nothing, spun back around to scan the motorcade. He remembered the feeling of his heart leaping into his throat when he had seen that the president had both hands raised to his neck.

Someone had yelled, “They’re throwing torpedoes at him!”

Steve had been running even before the second shot echoed through the quiet morning. His overly sensitive ears had narrowed down the direction the shots were coming from as he ran, Bucky hot on his heels.

It had been the third shot that made Steve hesitate for a moment. He had adjusted his course slightly as the third shot was different than the others, in sound as well as location.

Distantly, he had heard a woman's voice screaming, "Oh my God, no! They've shot Jack!"

He remembered the sight of the building he was running toward, and remembered seeing two black men leaning out of an upper window, themselves looking up to the floor above them. Steve's eyes had panned up to the next floor, and there it had been. He could see the rifle…part of the stock, clearly in his mind’s eye as it had been drawn into the recesses of the building….

He had gestured to Bucky, who nodded, having seen it as well, and ran even faster toward the aforementioned building. Steve had stayed his own course, off toward the sound of the third shot.

Steve winced as he distinctly felt the press of hundreds of people running full-tilt across the grassy knoll, bumping and jostling him as he had run. People running, screaming, but all Steve had heard, _still_ heard, was “They killed him! They killed him! They killed him! They killed him!” repeating endlessly along with the pounding of his heart.

Steve had run into the building from which he was sure the third shot had come. Everyone had been screaming and hollering in there as well. He had spotted a young man in a bomber jacket stepping out of the bathroom. He had been noticeable as he had been the only person not running or screaming his head off. The man had walked quickly, one hand up and gripping a heavy black duffle bag that was slung over his shoulder.

He had walked past Steve, who had following him and caught up with him just outside the lobby, on the front steps. He had stepped up close behind the man, pulled his gun from his jeans and pressed it against the small of the man's back. He had gotten barely any reaction, no excitement or fear or anything. It had unnerved him.

The rest was a bit of a blur, but Steve knew he had pulled the man into an alley and had pressed his gun to the man's forehead.

"Did you shoot the President?"

The man had smiled. It was a lazy, strange smile that had made a deeply uncomfortable pit open in Steve's stomach. It had been clear that the man was not in his right mind. He had tried to lower the gun but the man had surprised him. In a flash, he had reached up with both hands, caught Steve's fingers looped through the trigger guard and pressed firmly against them. Steve's fingers had compressed under the man’s grip and before he could yank his hand away from the man...

BLAM!

The shot echoed through his memory. Steve winced as he remembered how the shooter had slumped the ground. He had just stared in shock as the round bullet hole began to leak a steady trickle of blood down the man’s forehead. His eyes had been weirdly vacant.

Steve didn't remember much after that, he just knew that he had disposed of the evidence, the body and bullets, before returning to the hotel.

He didn't know why this kill was affecting him so much. He'd killed dozens of people, those horribly guilty along with those who were less so. He and Bucky tried their best to eliminate only the worst of humanity, but they never really lost sleep when they were forced to clean up a scene or cover up a kill by ratcheting up the body count a bit. They figured, in the end, that it was worth it.

But this one, this death, Steve had never killed someone who seemed to have no grasp of reality at all. The sick feeling he'd gotten when the man had smiled was still curled in his stomach, twisting and writhing like a living thing.

He knew, logically, that it hadn't really been his fault, but it still wasn't sitting right. He blew out his breath slowly, shook his head sharply, and clenched and unclenched his fists until he started to feel moderately normal. Once he felt as if the room was no longer tilting alarmingly, he leaned back into the couch cushions and ran his hands down his face, staring at the ceiling. All he could do now was wait for Bucky to get back.

Turned out, he didn't have to wait long for his friend to show up, red in the face and wild-eyed.

"Where the _fuck_ did you go?" he hissed as soon as the door clicked shut behind him. He eyed Steve carefully, taking in how the big blonde was sitting on the sofa, staring blankly at the ceiling, a duffle bag on the table in front of him. His furious expression melted immediately into confused concern.

"Are you okay?"

Steve ran a hand over his face, leaned forward and picked up the bag to toss over to Bucky. Frowning, the brunette unzipped it and his eyebrows immediately disappeared into his hairline.

"Um..."

"Yeah. Three shots, Buck, three. Two from the same place. The last was different."

Bucky nodded, "So you found the other guy? What'd you do with him?"

Steve stood up so suddenly that only Bucky’s years of experience prevented him from flinching back. The blonde’s body was tense, energy coiled in every twitchy motion he made as he paced the length of the room. He tugged absently on the short strands of his hair.

"The crazy fuck fucking shot himself in the fucking face with my fucking gun!" He turned his gaze to his partner, eyes wide, exasperated and angry, "And I have no idea if anyone saw me, or him, or anything."

Bucky looked almost impressed.

"I'm not even going to ask how that happened. Please tell me you at least got rid of the ballistic evidence?"

Steve gave him a look and Bucky held up his hands, "Just asking. Never too careful and all that jazz."

He sat down in the spot Steve had vacated, setting the duffle on the table again.

"They got the other guy. Fucker got away from the Repository but shot some poor cop a few blocks away and got picked up for that. Guy called Oswald."

Steve nodded distractedly and kept pacing.

Bucky blew out a breath, slapped his thighs and stood up.

"We got to get out of here. Too much heat for us now. We can ditch the bag as soon as we find a good lake or something to drown it in."

When Steve didn't respond, Bucky stood and walked over to him, grabbing his arm to put a stop to the relentless pacing. He pulled him close and gripped Steve’s shoulder with his unyielding left hand and spoke firmly. "Not your fault, Stevie. The guy was a dick. He shot the President of the United States for fuck sakes!” He softened his tone and squeezed Steve's shoulder, “He had it coming…and more."

Steve released a long breathe and gave an aborted nod, "Just a....bad day." He shook his head as if to clear it and turned away from Bucky to head into the bedroom. He went about packing up his meagre belongings. "I'll be alright,” he reassured Bucky without looking up.

Bucky snorted, "You better be, you're all I got in this world, punk."

That earned him an honest, if strained smile, "Jerk."


	17. Chapter 17

**April 5, 1968 ~ Calgary, Canada**

MARTIN LUTHER KING IS SLAIN IN MEMPHIS; A WHITE IS SUSPECTED; JOHNSON URGES CALM

 _Jesus_ , Steve thought as he read the paper. _What the hell is going on in the United States?_ He could hear Bucky laughing at some show - probably Bonanza, he always got a kick out of that one - in the other room. Steve couldn't lose himself in television the same way his friend could; it just seemed too complacent, brain-draining. He much preferred to read. So he settled more comfortably in his chair at the kitchen table and went back to the paper.

They had been renting their small house in Canada for three years, which meant that they would have to move on within the next two. Unfortunate, since Steve in particular liked the laid-back Canadian city. It was big enough that they could blend in but small enough that Steve felt at home. Bucky always preferred the bigger cities, they seemed to remind him a bit of New York, but Steve never found himself able to fully relax in a city that was too big. In Calgary, he particularly liked the yearly extravaganza that was the Calgary Stampede, a rodeo, exhibition and festival held in July. The ten-day event, which billed itself as "The Greatest Outdoor Show on Earth", attracted an absolutely mild-boggling amount of people. Steve and Bucky had had a blast visiting the rodeo, watching the parade, riding the midway and watching the shows, concerts and competitions. Calgary was a good city, but soon they would have to move on. Steve suppressed a sigh and refocused on the article to distract himself.

  
'Memphis, Friday, April 5 -- The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., who preached nonviolence and racial brotherhood, was fatally shot here last night by a distant gunman who raced away and escaped.

Four thousand National Guard troops were ordered into Memphis by Gov. Buford Ellington after the 39-year-old Nobel Prize-winning civil rights leader died.

A curfew was imposed on the shocked city of 550,000 inhabitants, 40 per cent of whom are Negro.

But the police said the tragedy had been followed by incidents that included sporadic shooting, fires, bricks and bottles thrown at policemen, and looting that started in Negro districts and then spread over the city.'

  
Steve shook his head, folded the paper and made his way into the living  
room to join Bucky.

He snuggled against the older man's side, enjoying the warmth from his body.  
Both of them ran hotter than average, another side effect of their time with Mengele, but still Steve always seemed to feel cold. Maybe his body had just gotten too used to shivering back when he was skinny, frail and sickly. Whatever the reason, he liked to snuggle against his friend, soaking up his excess heat whenever he could.

Steve was sure that their neighbours, an older couple named Doris and Martin, had picked up that they were homosexuals but neither Steve nor Bucky cared. Their neighbours had made it very clear that they disapproved and so it had become just another way Steve and Bucky maintained their self-imposed isolation.

Steve was no longer sure that he and Bucky would even know what to do if another person were to stumble into their lives. Bucky had been his anchor, his grounding presence for so long, that Steve had come to find himself getting distinctly uncomfortable if anyone, friend or acquaintance, tried to hang around for too long. He knew Bucky felt it as well whenever the brunette gravitated toward him, circling him like a satellite whenever they found themselves out in crowds or with groups of people.

Bucky's chest rumbled under Steve’s cheek as he laughed at whatever he was watching on the television. Steve looked up at Bucky, studying his partner carefully. His grey-blue eyes were alit with humour in a way that Steve was seeing more and more the further they moved away from the war, in time as well as distance. Bucky had his dark hair slicked over to one side, as was the style of the day. He was helplessly vain about his appearance, always insisting on keeping up with the latest fashions regardless of how ridiculous Steve insisted he looked. His current ensemble consisted of a pair of orange plaid pants and a green v-neck sweater over an orange collared shirt. The outfit was not nearly as bad as some of the things he had insisted on wearing in the early 60s, but it wasn't great. Steve winced at the memory and Bucky looked down at him, eyebrows raised in question.

Steve smirked and kissed his neck, "I was just thinking about your patriotic bell bottoms."

Bucky groaned and reached for a a cushion to whack Steve with, but the blonde slipped out from under his arm and out of reach, cackling.

Steve retrieved his sketch pad from the table and settled into his favourite drawing chair across from Bucky. The brunette raised an eyebrow, "Again, Stevie?"

Steve shrugged, "What can I say, Buck? You’re the best model."

Bucky rolled his eyes but didn't protest further, turning his attention back to the television. Steve set his tongue between his teeth and picked up his pencil.

When his hand moved over the paper it was almost like it moved without any connection with his mind, odd perhaps, but strangely peaceful. It was one small thing that he didn't have to worry about having complete control over. His hand moved instinctively to the right spot, building new pictures, sometimes ones he had never seen before, and more often than not, Bucky. As he drew, sketching Bucky into various fantastical worlds and situations, he saw reflections of his own mind, the way he thought. It wasn't just that though, there was something else there as well. He didn't know how, and perhaps he just imagined it, but when he drew he felt himself connecting with God and achieving a peace that he hadn't managed to find in any other way.

The picture took shape under his careful fingers, first Bucky's strong jawline, then his eyes, then the smooth lines of his arm. Steve knew the arm was Bucky's least favourite thing about himself, a constant physical reminder of what had been done to him, but Steve saw it another way. Perhaps it was because he had never actually seen the man without the gleaming metal prosthetic, but he saw the arm as a part of Bucky. It made him strong, and it reminded Steve of what they had been through, yes, but also what they had _survived_. The arm was a constant reminder of the fact that they were indeed still alive.

It had taken a while, but they had found a routine that worked. Every decade or so, they would settle in for a few years, living properly. They rented houses, worked jobs, ran errands; had normal lives for all intents and purposes. Of course, they couldn't stay anywhere too long, five years being their self-imposed limit, so they picked counties rather than cities for their rest period, bouncing about to different stops around the nation. Canada was one such period, and Calgary was the first stop on the list.

The rest of their lives were spent wandering the globe, seeking out and eliminating evil. They saw it as their purpose, the only way either of them could reconcile with their prolonged existence.

Steve was born on July 4, 1918, and Bucky on March 10, 1917, so he was coming on 50, Bucky had just last month turned 51 and neither of them looked older than 25. They were on their fourth set of fake identification documents; Steve was currently Neil Buckman, aged 24, from Toronto, and Bucky was John Malick, age 25, from New York. The one thing that had to remain a constant was Bucky's hometown, since he stubbornly refused to lose his tell-tale Brooklyn drawl.

Bucky liked being John, working his mechanic job at the garage down the road and shovelling piles of snow during the frigid Canadian winters. Steve liked being Neil as well. Neil worked in a bookstore and went to cooking classes with John - which John hated - every second Thursday. But soon, Steve sighed as he sketched Bucky lounging on a beach under an umbrella rather than on a sofa watching television, they would move on, become new people, and John Malick and Neil Buckman would disappear, lost like the others to the chasm that was their past.


	18. Chapter 18

**September 9, 1976 - Ottawa, Canada**

Steve woke up to lips pecking insesently all over his face and neck.

“M’up,” he mumbled, barely coherent.

“Make me breakfast,” Bucky whined in his ear.

“Make it yourself.”

“Don’t wanna,” Bucky blew a loud raspberry onto his shoulder and Steve silently said goodbye to the idea of any more sleep. He rolled over to look at his clock and groaned. 6am. Why?

“Why, Buck? Why?” he groaned.

Bucky just laughed in response and started dragging him bodily out of bed, ignoring Steve's half-hearted grumbling. He let Bucky lead him downstairs to the kitchen and then wandered around picking up things to make breakfast.

Bucky's culinary skills only extended to toast or cereal, so he generally whined until Steve gave up and cooked him something more significant.

Ten minutes later, Steve plonked a steaming mushroom omelette down in front of a smug-looking Bucky. He settled down beside him at the breakfast table with a cup of black coffee.

“Mmm, breakfast of champions,” Bucky smacked his lips and tried to give Steve a kiss. The blonde ducked and flipped him the bird.

"So did you hear?" Bucky asked around a big mouthful of egg.

Steve sighed into his coffee, "You dragged me out of bed, asshole. I haven't heard anything this morning but your voice."

Bucky grinned, swallowing his mouthful, "You know you love me. No, on the news this morning they reported that Mao died."

Steve put his coffee down as his eyebrows went up. That was interesting. They had been planning a trip to China for their next job to accomplish exactly that. Mao Zedong had been on their list ever since they heard he had ordered one landlord per village executed to serve as an example to promote communism. He had only kept moving higher up the list from there.

Steve took a thoughtful sip from his mug, "That might make him the first evil dick in over thirty years to die of natural causes."

"Aww," Bucky grinned at Steve. "You feeling your age, old man?"

Steve threw an stray piece of mushroom at him. "You're older than me if you remember, so watch who you call _old man_."

Bucky shrugged and stood, tossing the newspaper to Steve as he took his omelette into the living room to finish in front of the television. Steve rolled his eyes, flipping the paper open to the story on the Chinese dictator's death. He smiled as he sipped his coffee. Good riddance.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**November 20, 1991 ~ Near Okrouhlo, Czechia**

Steve grunted around the gag as the truck bounced once again and the handcuffs cut further into his wrists. He tried to shift a bit to take some of his weight off of them, but the bonds were firm, trapped his arms into position above his head.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and dropped his head back against the side of the truck, trying to breathe deeply. He didn't like this; even after more than 45 years, being confined in small, dark places still wound him up like nothing else. However, he didn't have much choice in his current predicament so all he could do was try to ward off a panic attack.

A shaft of sunlight filtered in through the edges of the door, providing just enough light in the dark truck for Steve to look up at his bonds. His wrists were handcuffed around a thick length of chain that coiled up through a hole cut in the roof. He pulled on them; no slack...typical.

The truck slowed considerably before stopping altogether. The engine stayed running.

Steve heard muffled voices speaking Russian coming from the cab. A minute later, the back door swung open, the sudden morning light causing Steve to flinch backward into the shadows. When he could see again, he found a green garbed Soviet soldier staring inside, aiming a rifle at his forehead. Steve growled around the gag and yanked fruitlessly on the chain binding his wrists. The guard smirked and slammed the doors shut, plunging Steve back into darkness.

More voices. A loud laugh. The truck began to move again.

A few minutes later, the truck came to a stop and the engine was killed. A door slammed. Heavy footsteps crunched on the ground, coming around the outside of the truck.

The door swung open once again, this time without the sunlight, and Steve found himself facing another man holding a pistol and wearing the green and orange uniform of the Soviet military. The man stepped into the truck, aiming the pistol at Steve. The cold barrel was pressed against his temple.

"Если ты побежишь, я застрелю тебя. Если вы сражаетесь, ваш день станет намного хуже, очень быстро."  
*If you run, I will shoot you. If you fight, your day will get much worse, very quickly*

Steve snarled, yanked on his cuffs one more time, and acquiesced. His captor slapped a second pair of restraints onto his wrists before unlocking the ones attached to the truck. Steve's arms were twisted painfully behind his back. The gun still to his head, and one hand holding his cuffed wrists, the man pushed him to his feet and forward out of the truck.

From the outside, the base appeared to be an abandoned storage barn. Rusty barrels of noxious chemicals were littered around the entrance, each labelled with a hazardous materials symbol. Tall weeds grew between the stones and the fence was almost falling over. Only a handful of guards patrolled the perimeter; hardly high security. It made sense though. Nobody cared what was above ground, all that was just owned by the government so that nobody else could develop the land that was over them. Underground it was a different story. From the intel he and Bucky had collected, Steve knew there was a maze of underground rooms, each either buzzing with computers or loaded with the latest in weaponry. Every inch was recorded by security cameras and patrolled by more Soviet agents than he could possibly incapacitate alone. Thankfully, he wasn't alone.

Bucky jabbed the barrel of the gun harder against Steve's head, milking his role for all it was worth as he pushed Steve through the barn doors. He looked good, to be honest, in the forest green uniform, white belt around his waist and prim green and orange hat perched on his dark head. He looked every inch a Soviet soldier. Thankfully, the white gloves of the uniform covered his metal hand as well. It had been a heated argument, determining which of them would play the prisoner and which the soldier, but in the end, Bucky won, saying Steve's blonde hair and blue eyes did not exactly scream native-born Russian.

With Bucky marching him forward, they came to and entered an elevator built into a panel at the back of the barn. Steve snuck a glance at Bucky as they descended. Excitement danced in the grey-blue eyes and Steve smiled inwardly; they were good to go.

They ground to a halt and Bucky pushed Steve out of the elevator into a clinically clean, steel hallway.

"Передача заключенного в управление для обработки," A voice over an intercom informed Bucky. Steve was not supposed to understand.  
*Transfer of the prisoner to management for processing*  
  
People passed by them on both sides, scurrying to wherever they were meant to be in the massive underground facility.

They had learned about the so-called 'Red Room' five months ago from classified intelligence they had lifted off of a Soviet courier. The facility supposedly produced the country's top KGB agents. That in itself was fine, but what rubbed Steve the wrong way was the fact that the agents were supposedly held against their will as they were indoctrinated.

They passed by a training bay in which thirty or so young-looking soldiers stood at attention as a gold-belted officer paced back and forth in front of them. Next was a cleanly medicinal room in which a doctor's chair was bolted in the centre. Steve felt his stomach turn at the sight of the heavy metal restraints hanging from the arms and footrests.

Trying to ignore everything going on around them, Steve mentally kept count of the seconds that had elapsed since they left the elevator. The base's security was monitored 24/7 but the feedback was on a loop, flipping from one camera to the next at certain intervals. They needed to get down the hall and into the small command office near the end before the count hit 97.

An Gantry Officer looked out the window and noticed the apparent soldier and prisoner. He beckoned for them to enter.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Steve snapped his handcuffs easily - they were always for show anyway - causing the officer, in a momentary state of shock, to stumble backward. With a sickening crack, Bucky whacked the officer upside the head with his pistol.

The aide in the room immediately reached for his holster, but Steve knocked him out easily. With a momentary reprieve, Steve reached behind his head to untie the gag Bucky had gleefully tied on hours before. He spat the thing out and tucked it in his pocket - they couldn't leave DNA behind - and sucked on his teeth, trying to stimulate saliva production in his dry mouth.  
  
"You know, you didn't have to stuff it so far in," Steve glared at his friend.

Bucky was alternating between typing quickly on a computer and glancing at a thick stack of documents on the desk. "Will you quit bellyaching and help me? We've got a grand total of two minutes before the security cameras switch around to this room. When that happens, every soldier in here will be on our asses."

Steve shrugged, picking up a set of the documents.

"Bring ‘em on! I always prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around."

Bucky fed some information into the computer and a map of the compound appeared on the monitor. He began to inspect it carefully as Steve scanned the room to locate the camera. Finding it, he jumped up and pulled it out of the wall. Grinning, he held it up for Bucky's inspection but the brunette barely looked up.

"That might have bought us an extra minute."

After a few more seconds, Bucky whistled, "I found the main power generator. If we put the explosive on that, this place is history.

Steve walked over. The computer monitor flashed readouts.

"The generator is coupled to the main reactor in seven locations. Any one of those will do I thi--"

Bucky studied the data on the monitor, his eyes widening.

"What is it?" Steve asked, scanning the random blinking icons in confusion.  
  
Bucky seemed to be frozen, his eyes huge as they flicked across the monitor.

"It's...It's _kids_ , Steve. The agents they train here start as _kids_." He looked up at Steve, whose jaw was clenched so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn't crack. "They've got only one right now. Hallway 4, Bay 9."

"We've got to do something."

Bucky nodded emphatically, "But we need a new plan."

"Uh..." Steve whirled around and snatched up a pair of heavy arm binders from the desk. "Put them on me...again."  
  
Bucky looked worried. The facility operators would soon know that the office was compromised and the security feed would have shown them entering; it was risky. Fuck it. Bucky snapped the binders on Steve's wrists and pressed the pistol once again to the blonde's head.

They tried their best to look inconspicuous, Steve snarling and swearing at Bucky while the brunette scowled and shoved him along roughly. Troops, bureaucrats, and techs in white coats bustled about, ignoring them   
completely. Only a few gave the large swearing blonde man a curious glance. They rounded a corner, following the mental map of the facility to Hallway 4.

When they reached it, Bucky rapped smartly on the closed door, which was promptly opened by a stern looking guard.

He stepped forward to stop Bucky's advance. "Ты не можешь быть здесь."  
*You cannot be here*

Bucky shrugged, "Слишком большая проблема. Тебе нужно держать его здесь."  
*It's too big a problem. You need to keep him here*

The guard frowned, "Они не сказали мне. Я должен буду это очистить." He held up a finger, asking Bucky to wait. He took a step backward toward the office at the front of the hall, eyes still narrowed suspiciously.   
*They did not tell me. I'll have to clear it*  
  
Surreptitiously, Bucky unfastened one of Steve's cuffs.

As soon as the guard took his eyes off of them, Steve threw up his hands. He grabbed Bucky's gun, simultaneously pushing them both through the door and into the hallway.

"Быть осторожен! Он свободен!" Bucky yelled in fake panic  
*Be careful! He's free!*

The two guards were momentarily frozen, startled, plenty of time for Bucky to twist and grab the man closest to him from behind, his thick forearm looped around his neck. He tightened his grip, cutting off the man's airway before yanking hard and snapping his neck. He grabbed the gun from the man's holster. Steve had leapt immediately onto the other guard, driving him to the ground before he pushed his thumbs firmly down on either side of the man's nose. The nasal cavity collapsed and the shards of bone were pushed backward under Steve's assault into the man's brain. He didn't even have time to scream.

Steve went to the exit door and bolted it closed, shoving one of the heavy metal chairs the guards had been using against it for good measure. He then turned to look around the hall. This section of the facility was done up like a futuristic prison. Heavy glass doors lined the hallway and behind each was a full bedroom, each decorated in different colours and themes. Steve tried to suppress his shudder. The two guards had been standing in the middle of the hallway, flanking a door with a large white number 9 on it.

Bucky rushed to the previously guarded door, using his metal hand to break easily through the locking mechanism that held it closed. As soon as the lock disengaged, the door slid slowly open.  
  
He beckoned Steve forward first, since he was the one not dressed in a Soviet uniform. Stepping in, Steve noticed first that the room was decorated only in white. Plain and simple and incredibly clinical. There was a small bed in one corner and a door leading to a tiny bathroom beside it. A circular lamp hung overhead, illuminating the small room. No other decoration at all.

A young girl sat cross-legged on the bed. It looked as though she might have been sleeping since the sheets were slightly mussed and she was dressed in a thin, grey shirt and matching grey pants.

Her green eyes and long red hair seemed especially vibrant in the white of the room. Her size told Steve that she was eight or ten years old, but her eyes said she was a lot older than that. Steve recognized that particular look, he saw it every day both in the mirror and in Bucky's grey-blue gaze.

The emerald eyes were locked on Steve's blue ones as her fingers clenched slightly in the white blanket. Her body was coiled, tensed, clearly ready to attack and defend if need be. Steve immediately put his hands in the air in attempt to show her that he wasn't a threat. She clearly didn't trust him, probably didn't trust anyone, he understood that, but she didn't look like she was planning to run either. He lowered himself to her level, slowly, watching as her eyes followed every small movement he made.

"Я не сделаю тебе больно. мы здесь, чтобы помочь," he said. But she shook her head forcefully.   
*I will not hurt you. We are here to help*

"Поверь мне, я не сделаю тебе больно," he said again, raising a hand in offering. "Вы хотите выбраться отсюда?" She lowered her feet to the ground and nodded slowly, stepping very carefully toward him.   
*Believe me, I will not hurt you.  
Do you want to get out of here?*

Steve smiled and asked her, "как вас зовут?" She stared at him as if that were the strangest question she'd ever heard.   
*What is your name?*

"У меня нет имени," she said, still watching Steve closely as she approached him. Her voice had a slightly melodic quality to it.  
*I have no name*

Steve tried not to show his displeasure at that, but the girl must have caught it anyway, as she cocked her head and her eyes softened, filling with curiosity.

Steve held out a hand. "Ты пойдешь с нами?"  
*Will you come with us?*

A ghost of a smile crossed her face and she slipped her small hand into Steve's big one. He smiled at her and led her out the door to where Bucky was waiting. The girl instantly froze, dropping Steve's hand and backing away from Bucky.

Bucky held up his hands, trying his best to look non-threatening in the Soviet garb.

"Все в порядке. Он - друг. Он просто переоделся," Steve reassured her. She didn't look convinced, but she took Steve's offered hand again and let herself be pulled forward, wary eyes never leaving Bucky.  
*It's all right. He is a friend. He just changed his clothes*

An ominous buzzing started, coming from the door to the hallway.

Bucky and Steve pushed the girl behind them, raising their guns.   
"Оставайтесь позади меня," Bucky said to the girl, quirking a smile at her.  
*Stay behind me*

A series of explosions went off and the door blew open. A moment later, a dozen Soviet guards poured through.

Steve and Bucky fired their pistols at them through the smoke and flame pouring from the hall. They turned and ran down the cell hallway, pushing the girl forward in front of them.

"Can't get out that way," Steve huffed in English.

"Nope," Bucky agreed, glancing quickly at the girl, who was watching them with an odd look in her eye.

The trio crouched together in an alcove for protection as the two men continued to exchange fire with the troops. With the number of attackers, they were barely able to keep the soldiers at bay. The gunfire was intense, and smoke was steadily filling the narrow corridor.

"Is there another way out?" Steve asked, since Bucky had been the one to really memorize the facility layout.

Bucky bit his lip, leaning around the corner to fire off a few more shots. "I don't know. I didn't look too closely at this section. We can't hold them off forever! Now what?"

"You aren't the most effective rescuers are you?" an accented voice asked in English from behind them. Both men turned quickly to gape at the girl. She had an eyebrow raised and was smirking slightly.

"This is a very interesting rescue. When you came in here, did you not have a plan for getting out?" she asked sweetly.

Bucky pointed to Steve, "Blame him. He's the brains, darlin'."

Steve managed a sheepish grin and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, I didn't..."

The girl grabbed Steve's gun and fired at a small grate in the wall next to Bucky, expertly avoiding him.

Bucky's eyebrows disappeared into his hat, "What the hell are you doing?"

She scowled at him, "Somebody has to do something. Air vents, obviously."

She hoisted herself up through the narrow opening, leaving Steve and Bucky staring at the grate in amazement.

They continued firing at he advancing troops as they stepped their way toward the new opening.

Bucky laughed, "Wonderful girl! Either I'm going to kill her or I'm beginning to like her. Get in there!

Steve ducked gunfire as he jumped up into the darkness. Behind him, Bucky fired off a couple of quick blasts to create a smokey cover, then vaulted up into the chute.

Steve crawled fast, following the small bare feet in front of him. He relaxed a little as soon as he felt Bucky start crawling behind him as well. They turned left, then right, then crawled up onto a higher shaft and kept going. Finally, the girl's feet vanished from in front of Steve and a moment later, he too came out into a dark, stale smelling room. Bucky crawled out behind him a second later.

"Your turn," the girl's smirk was evident in her tone, even in the dark room.

Shaking his head and smiling, Steve moved to the door, and bracing himself against the sash, pulled it clean off its hinges. The small group exited the room into a dusty, disused hallway.

The girl looked impressed for a moment before she turned and led them down the deserted corridor.

They ran until they came to a window overlooking a steep ramp the men knew was used for transport vehicles coming in and out of the facility. A few dozens soldiers milled about the area.

Bucky watched the troops and vehicles moving in and out of the hangar. "That's our way out..."

The group rounded a corner and found themselves face to face with a group of Soviet troops heading right toward them. Both groups were taken by surprise and stopped in their tracks.

Without thinking, Bucky drew his pistol and charged the troops, firing. His assault knocked one of the soldiers backwards and startled the others enough that they turned and ran back down the hall in the direction they had come. Bucky leapt over the fallen soldier and gave chase.

"Get to the hangar!" He called back to Steve as he ran.

"Where are you going? Come back!" Steve hollered after him but his companion had already rounded a corner and did not respond.

"He has courage," the girl said.

Steve sighed, "What good will it do us if he gets himself killed? Let's go!"

Steve was furious but he didn't have time to think about it since muted alarms began to go off somewhere deeper in the facility. They quickened their pace toward the hangar.

Bucky chased the troops down a long subhallway. He yelled and brandishing his pistol, making himself seem a hell of a lot scarier than he felt. The troops reached a dead end and were forced to turn and fight. Bucky stopped a few feet from them and assumed a defensive position. The men began to raise their own guns, moving into an attack formation in front of the lone gunman. Bucky's determined expression began to fade as the soldiers began to advance. He jumped backward as soon as they started firing at him.

Back down the hallway, Steve was firing his own pistol wildly as he and the girl rushed down a narrow hallway of their own, chased by several guards. They quickly reached the end of the hall and sped through an open door.

They raced through and onto a narrow bridge twenty feet up that spanned a room filled with machinery.

"I think we took a wrong turn," Steve admitted, gasping.

Blasts from the soldiers' guns exploded nearby, reminding them of the oncoming danger. Steve fired back at the advancing troops as the girl reached over and hit a switch that popped the door shut with a resounding boom. Bullets continued to hit the steel door.

Steve nodded approvingly, "That should hold us for a minute."

Bucky ran through the halls, mentally mapping his intended route. He finally turned the last corner and entered a humming service room that powered the huge facility generator. A loud clacking sound came from one of the machines.

He counted the cables quickly, finding the main lead to the reactor that lay further underground. He pulled a large brick pack of plastic explosives from under his uniform and placed it between the two lead cables. He carefully attached a blinking detonator to the device and, after making several adjustments, the screen flashed eight minutes and began a count down. At an important looking computer terminal, he then pushed red buttons and turned knobs to all the way to the left, grinning as several lights on the board went from blue to red. That done, Bucky deftly slipped back out into the main hallway.

Almost immediately, several soldiers came out of an apex and were hot on his trail.

One of them was yelling into a radio, "Закройте дверь!"  
*Close the door!*

At the end of the hallway, large doors began to close in front of Bucky. The young man raced past the huge doors just as they were closing, and managed to get off a couple of shots at the pursuing soldiers before the doors slammed shut. Bucky laughed as he ran and heard the soldiers still yelling into the radio.

"Открой дверь! Открой дверь!"   
*Open the door! Open the door!*

Bucky found himself, weapon in hand, leaning back against the wall surveying the hangar from an alcove just inside, watching more soldiers make their way into the space.

"Didn't I just leave this party?" he muttered to himself.

Steve and the girl ran around the corner and joined him.

"What kept you?"

"We got a little lost," Steve replied.

"Let's get the fuck outta here."

Steve nodded his agreement. He raised his gun and fired at the control panel for the interior hangar door. It sizzled and the door began to slide shut. Three soldiers charged toward the shots, but the trio was already running out across the hangar floor. The door slid closed behind them, shutting any more soldiers out of the hangar.

The men already in the hangar noticed the commotion and rushed toward them, pulling guns from holsters. Steve started for the advancing troops, as Bucky and the girl ran toward an armoured Jeep off to the left. Bucky fired behind them as they ran, unknowingly hitting a soldier, who crumbled to the ground.

Bucky pulled the driver side open as the girl slipped into the seat beside him. He turned the thankfully present keys and started the engine. Giving the hangar a quick swipe to locate his best friend, Bucky floored the gas pedal and took off toward the exit of the hangar. The Jeep rammed through various obstacles, human and machine alike, but Bucky didn't spare any a second thought; all his attention focused on Steve.

The blonde heard the car start and take off toward the hangar exit. He threw the soldier he was currently holding into the crowd of others running at him and began to run toward the the exit as fast as he could, pushing his body to its limit. He came alongside the Jeep, and with an huge leap, snagged a door handle and pulled it open, diving headfirst into the backseat of the car. The sharp bang of bullets hit the open door until Steve managed to sit up and pull it shut, reducing the noise to a dull clang as the bullets continued to hit the armouring.

Steve fell back onto the seat and closed his eyes, panting hard, his blonde hair sweaty and plastered to his forehead.

"All good?" Bucky asked him, not taking his eyes off the windshield as he directed the Jeep out the mouth of the hangar.

“All good," Steve responded. He scrubbed his slightly shaking hands over his face before opening his eyes.

As Bucky pulled a spectacular turn onto the road and pushed the gas pedal through the floor, the world behind them exploded. The facility smouldered but the flames flourished, dancing and leaping into the air, reaching hungrily for anything that they could consume to fuel their wrath. They drove on, Steve now smiling upside down at the red-headed little girl peering at him curiously from the front seat.

~~~

They had been driving for over an hour when Bucky finally spoke.

"She needs to go to the police, Steve. You know that, right?"

Steve sighed, looking behind them. So she could rest better, they'd moved the little girl into the backseat when she had fallen asleep. Her eyes were closed and her chest rose and fell with her deep, even breathing. Her red hair spilled across the seat like a pool of blood.

"Why?"

Bucky spluttered, "What do you mean, why? Have you been paying any attention for the last fifty years? Steve, we're assassins," Steve winced at his word choice - he'd never liked that word - but Bucky pressed on, "We _kill_ _people_. We have no home, no friends, no family. That's no life for a fuckin' kid."

"On top of that, she's not..." Bucky glanced in the rear-view mirror at the girl, biting his lip like his always did when he was nervous, "...right. There's no reason without logic and when someone is raised believing something so hard that it becomes their identity, they're screwed; you might as well save your breath. If they've hung everything they are on it and made a purpose based around a certain point of view or ideology, not a lot will shift their opinion. That's what happens in places like that, Steve. People adapt to survive, especially kids. And this girl seems like a survivor to me."

He took a hand off the wheel and held up one finger, "First, she speaks fluent English, not super weird, but odd in this part of the world." Another finger went up. "Second, she clearly has training with firearms. You see how she handled your gun? No hesitation. That one's more concerning for a kid of what, ten?" A third finger. "Finally, she kept up with me, running, and I wasn't holdin' back neither." His hand moved to switch on the wipers as mist starting to cloud the windshield.

"There's something up with this kid, Steve. However long she's been there, whatever they did to her in there, I'd be willing to bet they succeeded. Which means," he held up a hand to stop Steve as he was about to interrupt, "that she'll either die defending whatever cause they lodged in there, live in the shadows, or go to jail. There's no undoing the damage, it's part of her now."

Steve mulled over Bucky's words, looking out the window. It was raining steadily now. He'd always liked the rain. It fell like God's own artwork; each drop was a single brush stroke in a painting that took eons to complete. It had always been art for Steve, always called to him in ways he couldn't explain. When the patter of the drops tumbled from grey skies the beauty brought serenity no matter the chaos in his life. Rain, blessed rain, always washed away whatever mess was muddling up the canvas.

And right now, it helped clear his mind.

"And that's exactly why we need to keep her with us," he stated finally, frustration bleeding into his voice as he turned to face Bucky, who glanced at him quickly before redirecting his attention to the road. "She's not normal. We're not normal, either; look what happened to us. You think I don't know about damage? Jesus, Bucky...You and I have been through things no one ever should, and I think she has too. She's like us, but she's too young to take care of herself." He frowned out the window at the downpour. "Those are our options, too, you know. Die, live in the shadows, or go to jail. So why not help her? We don't have to drag her along, make her a killer, but we can give her a home, a family. God knows we have enough money to set up a more stable living situation for once, and our new IDs should be good for another ten years. We've got the time. We've got the resources. She needs us."

Bucky clenched and unclenched his fingers on the steering wheel, chewing properly at his lip now. Steve laid a hand over his, feeling the heat of his flesh through the gloves he wore.

"And I think we need her, too." He sat back and ran a hand through his filthy hair. "You know as well as I do that we can't keep going like this forever; we'll go crazy...if we haven't already. We found a way to survive fifty years ago, sure, but it's taking its toll. We need something other than death in our lives, Buck." He looked back at the sleeping child, "She's life, regardless of how broken she might be."

Bucky reached over and grabbed Steve's hand in his own. Squeezing, he nodded tightly.

"You're all I've ever needed, Stevie. For fifty years, just you. But..." he glanced over and met Steve's bright blue eyes, so filled with hope, "I think you're right."

Steve smiled, bringing Bucky's hand to his mouth to press a hard kiss onto his knuckles. With that, through the artistry of the rain, the Jeep drove on toward Prague.


	20. Chapter 20

**April 15, 1998 ~ Anlong Veng District, Cambodia**

CRACK! CRACK! Plumes of smoke rose from the ends of vintage hunting rifles, causing game birds to scatter into the air. Dogs barked, tearing through the underbrush. Men clad in traditional hunting livery moved through foggy woods, followed by stewards.

It was old school hunting, old school weapons. A camera found The Mark, raising his weapon, sighting, before... BLAM! A pheasant fell and the dogs raced after it. The Mark started forward but was interrupted by his steward holding him back, murmuring something to him.

The Mark pushed the man back, ignoring him, choosing instead to hurry on. At a small distance, two stoic military officers followed.

A short distance away, in darkness, only the soft beeping of the camera, almost inaudible, could be heard. Steve moved with a rustle of cloth; his leg was cramped, he hadn't moved in hours. A green glow illuminated Bucky's face next to him as he checked the time once again. Both men sighed, still a ways to go.

Outside the sports club, The Mark stumbled forward, over-eager to get to his prize. He'd worked his way ahead on the field as the morning mist had grown thicker. His companions moved on all sides, hard to distinguish from a distance through the haze of mist.

CRACK! CRACK! Guns went off all around them as dogs rushed by, eager to please. The Mark brought his weapon to his face and BLAM!! The shot echoed through the foggy woods.

~~~

The morning mist had long since burned off the fields when The Mark, pleased with himself as always, burst into the lodge, gun over his shoulder. A round of applause broke out as his steward held up the morning's catch.

The Mark pushed forward toward the locker rooms as one of his security guards took station at the door. The second emerged from the lockers a moment before The Mark went in, apparently having completed his sweep.

Strolling into the locker room, The Mark leaned his hunting rifle against the wall and opened his locker. He kicked off his sweaty boots, and pulled his shirt over his head. He took a second to rub his face with his hands; it was so exhausting being him.

Behind the Mark, and unbeknownst to him, the seemingly-locked door opened and closed, almost as if a ghost had done it. The Mark, having morn noticed and not sensing a thing, reached for his weapon to put it away. He accidentally knocked it to the side and it landed, hard. The Mark winced, half expecting it to fire. It didn't.

He started to lean down for it again when another man's gloved hand reached it first. The Mark smiled down at the well-dressed man crouched by the gun, a little confused.

The dark haired man looked up, smiling back. He put out a gloved hand.

Before he could think about his decision, The Mark had taken the man's hand. The mystery man held tight. The Mark's smile hitched, quivered, faded, as apprehension flooded his senses; something was wrong.

The dark haired man's actions were fast and brutal, taking The Mark by surprise. He pulled him in to his chest, slinging a surprisingly hard and heavy arm around his shoulders to hold him firmly. At that moment, The Mark felt someone else step up behind him and plunge a syringe into his neck before depressing the plunger.

The Mark grabbed his neck, slumping between the two men, his hands moving to grab at his chest, gasping and wheezing on the floor.

One...two seconds before The Mark's guards rushed into the room, guns drawn, heads on a swivel. The first one saw The Mark, running to him to try and help. He pressed two fingers to The Mark's neck, checking for a pulse. Finding none, he looked to the other and shook his head. The second started in on the radio as he looked around.

The locker room was empty.


	21. Chapter 21

April 17, 1998 ~ Long Island, New York

Natalia turned off the computer but it did no good; the headline was still burned into her retinas, reflecting onto her eyelids even when she closed her eyes. 

DEATH OF POL POT; POL POT, BRUTAL DICTATOR WHO FORCED CAMBODIANS TO KILLING FIELDS, DIES AT 73

The article went on to say that Pol Pot, who created in Cambodia one of the 20th century's most brutal and radical regimes, had died on Wednesday of heart failure.

She snorted. They were good. While the world might believe that the dictator had died of massive heart failure, Natalia knew better. Her parents had left just over two weeks ago for a "business meeting" in Thailand but she wasn't stupid, far from it. Ever since she had come to live with Steve and Bucky, they had regularly left on these so-called "business meetings" around the world. Trouble was, they had no business, no jobs that would require them to travel at all. Steve worked as a comic book illustrator and Bucky was an editor. Both of her guardians worked from home, shipping their finished products through the mail. Neither of them even went into an office...ever.

Natalia stomped out of the living room of their Long Island house, following the modern white carpet down the hallway to her bedroom. Her room was a wonderland for comic book-inclined recluses. The walls were a deep red that pulsed in the light, slapped with various posters, mostly of obscure bands and Japanese horror films. Her silver comforter was pulled over the sheets in a half-hearted attempt to tidy the rumpled bed. A dresser sat against one wall, and a silver two-headed lamp arched in the corner. A desk sat across from the bed, littered with wadded up pieces of paper and uncapped pens, discards from her schoolwork. A few shelves were pushed against the walls and filled with well-loved copies of her favourite books. Two such books lay on the floor in front of the shelves, dropped there in front of her squashy, blood red beanbag chair. 

She crossed the room to stand before the floor-to-ceiling window to look out on the sprawling backyard. Frustration was coursing through her in waves, as it always did when she found the headlines. The first she could remember was in July of 1994, three years after she had come to live with her now-parents. Kim Il Sung, the self-proclaimed 'Supreme Leader' of North Korea, had died following a massive stroke. The headline was innocuous, as they always were,no one even suspecting foul play most of the time, unless her fathers seemed to think they could get away with it. No one was any the wiser. No one but her seemed to know about the two international assassins quietly disposing of the world's human filth.

Not that Steve and Bucky had ever actually told her about any of it; no, they pretended and avoided in order to paint a perfect picture of the world for her to grow up in. But she knew the truth. She had been eleven when they found her, plenty old enough to remember exactly what had happened to her. And how it had stopped.

She had been only three when she was taken from her mother; she knew this because the Red Room had kept detailed records on each subject. This meant that she knew her birth date, along with the year she had come to the Room. She was raised in the Room from that point on, schooled in mathematics, languages, technology, history, politics, combat - both hand-to-hand and with various forms of weaponry - anything the commanders decided would be useful to her once she was ready to begin her assignments. 

That had been the only goal. Prepare for the assignments. Listen. Learn. Obey. That was all she had known for seven years, but she had never fully sacrificed herself to it. 

She watched the older children move through the levels of training, graduating from basic learning and skills to full conditioning and modification. One boy, a young man they called Twelve, was a loud-mouth, talking too much and too often for the commanders' liking. He didn't take much very seriously and liked to goof around during training. When he turned sixteen, they took him away for a very long time and when he returned, he was not the same. He was quiet, quick to follow orders, first to snap to attention and never joked or goofed around. They had done something to him, as they did to all the graduates when they turned sixteen; something that made them more mailable, mouldable, something that made them better soldiers. No one escaped it.

She had long since resigned herself to her fate, taking solace in the fact that she would no longer have doubts, worries, or fears after her graduation. So she worked hard, trained hard, and one by one, the older children graduated until she was the last one left. She had been the youngest of the group and suddenly, she was all alone. So she waited. Until the day that two large men had destroyed the Red Room and taken her away.

The men had money; they bought airplane tickets and flew her away across the ocean. They bought a house in New York and gave her everything she could ever want, and many things she did not even know she wanted.

Like a name. She had never thought much of names; the commanders didn't have them, the other children didn't either. No one in her life ever had a name. But the men had names - Steve and Bucky, they told her - and when they asked her what she would like her name to be, she had answered automatically. Natalia had felt right, comfortable and familiar like a soft blanket on a warm bed during a cold night, and she had wrapped herself up in it without a second thought. Bucky had given her a surname, Romanov, because she was his Russian princess, he told her. Within a few days of her rescue, there had been a birth certificate, a social security number, and later, adoption papers, all with the name Natalia Romanov typed in clear, bold letters. She was Steve and Bucky's daughter within a week of arriving in the United States.

Her new fathers had hired a private tutor for her, but after a year, she had been enrolled in a private school in order - as Bucky and Steve had insisted - to be around children of her own age. She never fully fit in with the other students, and she understood intrinsically that she never truly could, but she enjoyed their company all the same.

When she had expressed interest in activities, her fathers also signed her up for ballet, tae kwon do, archery, and gymnastics. Despite the ever-present memories, the knowledge that she was not like the other children, she always felt better when she was active and busy. It certainly didn't hurt that she managed to excel in every extra-curricular that her parents put her into.

It was when she was fourteen that she told Steve and Bucky everything that had happened to her in the Room. The men had listened carefully, reacted appropriately at the right moments, and never interrupted even once. When she was finished, they had wrapped her in a tight hug and whispered promises of love and security for as long as they were able to provide them. It was the first time she could remember that Natalia had ever felt truly loved.

On her sixteenth birthday, Steve, grinning enormously, had presented her with a small cardboard box that had holes punched in the sides. A tiny ginger kitten had looked up at her when she pulled back the flaps. She named him тигр or Tiger, for his dark orange colouring and the black markings around his eyes, ears and tail. 

Her parents were wealthy; where that wealth came from, Natalia was never sure, but she never wanted for anything. Steve and Bucky were modest men, disliking anything flashy or expensive, they never spent extravagantly on anything: they lived in a lovely but understated home in a quiet part of the island, drove sleek but modest cars, and wore tasteful but reasonable clothes. However, they paid for things without a thought, pulling black charge cards from wallets, and never spoke of money the way Natalia knew many other people did. 

It was a wonderful life, and she loved her parents dearly, but what she wanted more than anything, what she had wanted for over a year now, was for her fathers to be honest with her. She had figured out what they did when she was fourteen; at least everything that she could put together, and hadn't thought much of it. It had seemed exciting when she was a teenager. Her parents had the coolest job she could think of, and their present was no stranger than her past anyway. She kept it hidden from friends, teachers, coaches, and never let Steve or Bucky know that she was on to them. They seemed to have a reason for wanting to keep their secret and she figured it was a good one. So she kept her mouth shut.

But she didn't want to anymore. She wanted to know her parents, everything about them. They had raised her, given her freedom and a family; more than she ever expected to have, and she didn't even know how old they were. For she had grown, aged from a scrawny eleven year old to a curvy young woman of eighteen, and they never seemed to age with her. She knew their birthdays, they always celebrated Steve's on July 4 and Bucky's on March 10, but there were never any candles on the cakes. In public, and on any documentation Natalia could find, they were twenty seven and twenty eight respectively, but she knew for sure that was not true. She remembered the day she met them as clearly as anything and if she was certain of anything, it was that it had not been twenty year old kids who had laid waste to the Red Room.

There were other things as well. Like the time Steve had been making dinner for them and had accidentally sliced open his finger while chopping onions. The blood had welled in the wound, she had seen it, before Steve stuck his finger in his mouth, quickly but nonchalantly. When he had pulled it out to resume chopping, the finger was perfect, no wound in sight. When she asked him about it, he had laughed and said she must have been seeing things. But when Natalia had been cleaning the dishes later that evening, she had spotted a red splotch of her father's blood clinging to the side of the cutting board. 

And then there was the gleaming silver elephant in the room, Bucky's arm. Her father's left arm was something no one really spoke about. It was metal, smooth to the touch, with plates that shifted like snake scales whenever he moved. As a child, she had been fascinated by it, choosing always to sit on her father's left side to be nearer to the shiny limb. But Bucky had only ever smiled, slightly sadly, whenever she had touched or shown interest in his arm. His sad, pained expression always stilled her tongue whenever she was struck by the impulse to ask about it. In public, he always wore long sleeved shirts or sweaters with gloves, regardless of how sweltering hot the New York summer became. It was not uncommon for her father to lie on the beach, clad in swim trunks, with a New York Rangers hoodie over top. Bucky, or Damien Larkin, as everyone but she and Steve knew him, was a veteran, a decorated solider, so people assumed that he had scars from combat that he preferred to keep hidden. As he always told her, the best lies were the ones closest to the truth.

Steve was known as Jackson Larkin, husband to Damien and father to Natalia. She remembered their wedding day. About three months after they had rescued her, the two men had taken her to Norway to a courthouse, explaining that they might as well since it would be easier to explain her presence in their lives if they were a married couple. She hadn't quite understood this, but she did understand that many people got married before they had children, so she didn't question it. 

Her parents were married and wore wedding rings, despite the state of New York not actually recognizing their marriage. They laughed and chatted to the other moms and dads and attended meetings with her teachers, just like the other parents from her school. However, despite the modern times and the way most people viewed homosexuals these days, Steve and Bucky seemed to retain an almost palpable fear of other people. It was almost as if they lived in a different time than everyone else.

So she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything. She crossed to her bed and shoved Tiger over a smidgen to make room. He made a small noise of protest before curling his front paws over his face once again. As she lay there, stroking slowly through Tiger's thick fur and staring up at the perfect star constellations Steve had drawn on her bedroom ceiling when she was twelve, she resolved to confront them, finally, when they returned from their trip to "Thailand".

~~~

Steve sighed contentedly as Bucky pulled the car up the wide, circular driveway. He didn't think he would ever get over the happy rush that accompanied the now-familiar sight of home. The house they'd purchased back in 1991 was in a rural community on the edge of the Long Island Sound. It was only twenty-five miles to the heart of Manhattan, but the area was a tranquil counterpoint to the city's frenetic pace. The house was a sprawling bungalow, with dark wood siding and a peaked black roof. Huge old trees surrounded the house, adding to the feeling of comfortable isolation. From the front, the kidney-shaped swimming pool in the backyard was just visible in the dying afternoon light. 

He took a deep breathe and closed his eyes. Nope, he’d never get over the feeling of being home, and he didn't want to. He opened his eyes when Bucky bumped shoulders with him, a contented smile of his own gracing his handsome features. The brunette titled his head in the direction of the front door before slinging his duffel over his shoulder and heading inside.

"Nat?" Bucky called, switching on the hall light as he and Steve made their way into the living room. Natalia appeared at her bedroom door, her huge ginger cat draped over her right shoulder. 

Natalia was the kind of girl women loved to hate. At eighteen she was an adult, Steve supposed, but young enough that she had the exuberance of youth. She had always been quite the beauty, but as she aged she only got more stunning. She was fair, with long curls of ruby hair that always seemed to gleam when captured by the light. She had the most vivid pair of grass green eyes trimmed with long lashes. Lovely eyes, but sharp, that always held a hint of calculation within them. She had that movie star look, not tall and willowy, but petite and strong, like a coiled spring. 

She closed the distance between them, dropping the cat on the floor. As a warm smile lit up her face, something flashed beneath the surface of her expression. Steve blinked, trying to investigate the sudden shift, but it was too late, the emotion had disappeared before he could identify it. 

He wrapped his daughter in a tight hug, dropping a kiss on top of her head, before releasing her and pushing her into Bucky's waiting arms. Natalia pressed a kiss to Bucky's stubbled cheek, slipping the duffel off his shoulder as she did. The man tried to protest but a raised eyebrow from the girl had him clamping his mouth shut; she clearly had an agenda this evening.

"Can we sit?" she asked, dropping Bucky's bag on the floor and settling herself on her favourite pouffe, indicating the sofa across from her. 

Steve tensed. Something was up. He glanced at Bucky, who gave a barely perceptible shrug before sitting down facing the girl, elbows resting on his jean clad knees. Steve let out a slow, controlled breathe and attempted to loosen his body as he settled beside his best friend, flinging an arm over the back of the couch in an attempt to appear more relaxed than he was. From the look his daughter gave him, he had not succeeded.

The two men waited, watching their daughter chew her lip - a habit she had picked up from Bucky - while contemplating them carefully. Steve fidgeted, he didn't like being examined too closely, and Natalia in particular had a knack for pulling the most obscure truths out of a person just by fixing them with that green-eyed gaze.

She pulled a printed piece of paper out of her back pocket and smoothed it out on the coffee table. "I know what you did," she said nervously, pushing the paper towards them.

Bucky picked it up and with a quick glance, Steve saw the headline printed in bold typeface across the top. His gut clenched and he suddenly had to fight to keep a neutral expression on his face. Bucky opened his mouth beside him, but Natalia held up a hand.

"Just let me talk, please." She sighed heavily, "I've known since I was fourteen. And please don’t deny it. I found that one,” she nodded to the article, “two days ago but it isn’t the first. They always pop up during your 'business trips'." She made air quotes and Bucky snorted. Steve laid a hand on his thigh, getting the older man to look at him, and the two had a quick, silent conversation. Bucky nodded once, turning back to Natalia, Steve didn't move his hand.

"I'm alright with it. I don't care what you do. Some people are assholes," Natalia continued. "What does bug me is that you haven’t told me the truth. I'm not a kid anymore and I want to know. There are a lot of questions in my life and if you can answer any of them, it would help.” She sighed, “I just want to know. Please."

Somehow sensing, as he always did, that Steve needed him to step in, Bucky cleared his throat.

"You're right, sweetie. There are a lot of questions we can't do much about, but this... we can." He coughed, running a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "We should've told you, probably a long time ago, but you deserved a childhood, one without too much stress. With this, it's not just the facts you have to live with, it's the secret. Because no one can ever know."

Natalia looked affronted, "I know that. I wouldn’t tell anyone. You know I wouldn't."

Bucky nodded, "Yeah. But if we tell you a bit, we have to tell you everything, and that is a totally different bag of apples."

"I want to know.” The steely look in her green eyes let both men know she was serious.

Steve licked his dry lips, lacing his fingers through Bucky's flesh ones, and sat forward, unconsciously mimicking his husband's posture. 

"Alright then. Let's start at the beginning." Steve let his natural German colour his typically American accented speech. "My real name is Stephan Roeder. My mother's name vas Sara und I vas born in a town called Aachen on July 4, 1918." Natalia's eyes grew wide at the date. While she might have suspected about their little aging problem, clearly she hadn't been expecting a date like that. 

He smiled sadly at his daughter and continued, "In der early 1940's, vhen I vas a bit older dan you, der nazis looted my town. Dey rounded up eferyone who did not fit Hitler’s Ahryan ahrchetype und sent us to der camps. Ahnyone who fought or tried to resist in ahny vay vas killed. I vas not...I did not look like I do now. I vas shmall, shkinny und sick so dey took me. My mother tried to protect me but..." Steve cleared his throat, looking down at Bucky's fingers clenched tightly around his own, "Dey killed her. Dey shot her for trying to safe me." He released a long shaky breathe and squeezed his eyes shut. Even after all these years, the memory of his mother's final moments was still painful. 

A smaller hand was placed on his knee and Steve opened his eyes to find Natalia kneeling in front of him, sadness etched all over her beautiful face. 

She was like a snapshot out of time. In her purple tank top and jeans she could be anyone, or no-one. But to Steve, she was the world itself. There was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe, but...he couldn't protect her forever. He could only be there when she fell and stand back while she learned to pull herself back up. He gave his daughter what he hoped was a genuine soft smile before he continued.

"I vas taken to a concentration camp in Austria but I vas only dere for ahbout a veek before a doctor came to collect new patients. I vas vun uv der ones selected. I vas taken to ahnother facility...to dis day I do not know exactly vhere it vas." He looked to Bucky for confirmation and the brunette shook his head. His grey eyes were hard and the lines around his mouth tight as Steve had ever seen them. He was gripping Steve's hand like a lifeline and glaring down at the plush beige carpeting as if it had done him some personal injury.

"I vas aht der facility for veeks, months, mostly by myself, unless der doctor sent for me."

"Bucky vas brought in seferal months ahfter I vas. Dey put him in der cell next to mine," Steve paused and looked over at his love, trying to judge whether or not he wanted Steve to continue for him. He was just about to keep going when Bucky spoke, drawing both his and Natalia's attention.

"I was an American soldier. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th infantry," Bucky's voice was robotic, eerily soft and still directed at the carpet. "My unit was attacked. Friends died and I was captured." He lifted his gaze to meet Natalia's and she made a small noise of distress at the pain she found there. She had never seen that look on his face, and it scared her. 

"They did things to us, Natalia. Experiments. They pulled us apart and put us back together and dumped us like trash back in the cells. Stevie," his grip on Steve's hand tightened impossibly, "he was the only thing that kept me sane. Kept me goin' at all."

"Back at you, Buck," Steve whispered, his accent back to normal, and Bucky nodded. If he was going to do this, he needed to get it out all at once, Steve understood that.

"We both felt we were changin'. Hard to tell in the dark like that but we both felt it. Taller, stronger, but the experiments didn't stop. And they didn't get easier. At least until the pain stopped. We found out later they put some device or somethin' in our heads to stop us feelin' any pain. From what we’ve pieced together, we think he was trying to create some perfect soldier. Don't matter, really. Eventually Steve started wakin’ up after they put him out. They always used this drug to make us sleep when they took us for the procedures but I guess they didn't count on us starting to burn through it. We started to plan our escape after that but it wasn't until they..."

He broke off, looking up at the ceiling and breathing deeply in the way Steve knew he did when he was trying to get ahold of himself. Steve continued for him.

"They needed us to obey. To take orders without question. When I was awake I heard them mention neural manipulation or electric therapy or something like that. I can't remember too clearly anymore. We knew we had to get out before that but....they started sooner than we expected." He looked at Bucky, who was still steadfastly staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly, his face a blank mask. Steve swallowed the bile that was threatening to rise from his stomach.

"They took him first. All I heard was screaming. I had never heard him scream before. We were always asleep. And then suddenly he was screaming like he was dying and I was locked up...." He shook his head violently to rid himself of the sudden memory of Bucky's panicked screams ringing through his head. "When they brought him back he wouldn't wake up and I snapped. When they came to take me that day I finally fought back."

He tore his gaze away from his best friend's blank expression and met his daughter's eyes. Her brow was furrowed and she was chewing on her lip hard enough it looked like it might start bleeding. He didn't want to continue, didn't want her to know, but he had to, she needed to know.

"I killed everyone. Every nurse, guard, doctor. And I got Bucky out. He was weak from what they had done to him but we heal fast so we ran, and we kept running. I honestly don't think we stopped until we found you."

Natalia made a small noise before grasping his and Bucky's joined hands and bringing them to her lips. She laid a single soft kiss on the back of both their hands and sat back, wiped a hand down her face. When she had seemingly recovered, she inched forward and laid a hand on Bucky's knee.

"Dad?"

Bucky startled, his whole body jerking as if electrified. He drew in a painful sounding breathe and dragged his eyes down to meet his daughter's. She touched his left arm carefully with a forefinger.

"What happened?"

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding audibly together for a moment before he was able to speak, "They gave us something. Some sorta drug that made us heal real fast. They wanted to see just how much it could heal. So they," he made a hacking gesture with his right hand over his left shoulder. He shrugged, squinting as he looked out the huge bay windows at the now rapidly vanishing sun. "Didn't grow back, obviously, so they attached this," he wriggled the fingers on his left hand.

Natalia snagged the hand from the air and before Bucky could stop her, stripped off the ever-present leather glove. She dropped a kiss to each one of Bucky's metal knuckles, then flipped his hand over and pressed another into the centre of his palm. Bucky made a sound like a wounded dog and gently tugged his hand out of her grasp. He made no move to put his glove back on.

"When we escaped," Steve continued, "I grabbed the files they kept on us. Once we got far enough away, we read through them and learned everything they did." He ticked off the points on his fingers, "Reinforced metal skeleton, accelerated healing, muscle regeneration, and dampened pain receptors. Plus Bucky's arm. Everything considered, we can't really be hurt."

Natalia frowned, fiddling absently with a loose thread in the carpet, "And you said you were born in 1918? How is that possible? I mean, I know you both lie about your age but-"

"It's not exactly possible to tell the US government your real birthdate when it happens to be just after World War I," Bucky interjected. "I turned 81 last month, Natalia. Steve turns 80 in July. That's not shit ] you can just tell people and shrug off."

Her lips twitched up in a tentative tiny smile as she glanced up at Bucky from under her eyelashes, "Well, you both look really good, for old men I mean."

Steve snorted. He couldn't help it. The tension in the room was so high and the pain so tangible that a small amount of humour was a welcome relief. 

Her smile grew a bit more before a shadow passed over her features and the smile fell away. She nibbled on her lip.

"How long have you been doing this?"

Bucky smirked, he too had been relieved by the mood-lightening. "Other than The Doctor and his team, who Stevie here was kind enough to dispatch, Hitler was our first."

Natalia's eyes grew wide as dinner plates. Her mouth opened and closed like a guppy before she choked out, "Adolf Hitler?"

Bucky rolled his eyes, "No, his cousin. Yes, Adolf Hitler. Leader of the Nazi Party in Germany until 1945." He inclined his head toward Steve, "We killed him in his bedroom."

The declaration was met by a silence and a long stare before Natalia burst out laughing. Steve and Bucky frowned, looking at each other, as their daughter doubled over on the carpet with mirth. 

"My...80...Year-old...Dads....Killed....Hitler!" She managed to get out between peals of laughter. Steve smiled a little, glancing at Bucky, who looked completely thunderstruck, something which only seemed to be making Natalia laugh even harder. 

Steve blew out a breath, slapped his knees and stood, picking up his and Bucky's abandoned duffel bags from beside the couch. "Well, I think that's all the damage we can do today. I'm going to go unpack." Bucky's only response was to nod mutely, his mystified eyes still glued to his hysterically laughing daughter.

Steve chuckled as he walked out of the room. He felt lighter. In all the times he and Bucky had discussed that very conversation, they had never imagined it would end with Natalia rolling on the floor laughing. He smiled, she had taken it it better than they thought she ever would.


	22. Chapter 22

**November 4, 2001 ~ Washington, DC**

Natalia, or Natasha, as she called herself these days, left her parents 857 days ago - not that she was keeping track.

Thing was, while she left them, she didn't exactly leave their world. After they told her the exact details of what they did, the wheels had started turning. She knew that they would never allow her to help them, go with them, but she still felt she needed to do something to make a difference. She had been a scared little girl once, and she wanted to help others like her get the chance that she had been given.

But it was more than that now; she had taken the skills she had, the skills her parents had encouraged her to hone, and carved out a niche for herself. She lied and stole and killed - if necessary - because she was good at it. It was the world she was raised in, and despite Steve and Bucky's best efforts, it was the world she belonged to.

The problem was that, subtle as she was, she was more...impatient than her parents and had managed to get on more than one group's radar. She was constantly on the run these days, dodging some organizations that wanted to kill her and some that wanted to arrest her. It was only a matter of time before one of them found her.

She'd just finished a particularly nasty bit of business involving Croatian sex traffickers, when she became aware of someone following her. She increased the pace of her steps; if she could just make the street at the end of the alley, she could blend in with the evening crowd and buy herself a moment to think.

A sound came from behind and she dodged reflexively, feathers whizzing past her cheek millimetres away. She was already running into the nearest building when the arrow embedded itself into the wall.

She ran up the stairs two at a time, scarves whipping behind her as she shoved open the door to the roof. She could hear footsteps following, but they were light and swift. Whoever was following her was very good.

Dodging another arrow as she neared the edge of the roof, she leapt off of it and sailed over the short gap between buildings, unholstering two guns as she tucked and rolled her landing on the next roof.

She spun in a crouch to took aim, only to find herself face to face with the sharp steel tip of an arrow. She didn't lower the guns.

There was a moment of heavy breathing as they sized each other up.

The man was young, close to her age from what she could see in the rapidly fading light, with sharp blue eyes and short blond hair. She didn't recognize him by sight, but his choice of weapon said more than his appearance ever could.

"Are you gonna ask?"

He sounded more curious than anything, but his aim didn't waver.

"Hawkeye of S.H.I.E.L.D." she responded calmly, catching the twitch of surprise before his features smoothed, going a little smug.

"Well I must be good if you've heard of me."

She _didn't_ let out an inelegant snort, but for a fraction of a second, it was tempting.

"Not many people use a bow," she replied, voice even. "Given which organizations have been after me, it wasn't that difficult to narrow down."

His looked pleased for a moment before his expression shifted back to serious. She couldn't think of a way out of this, and given who she was currently up against, she was not actually sure she could move fast enough to avoid taking an arrow, something she would rather avoid.

They were both silent for a long time, the air between them considering and tense. She could tell he was listening to whoever was talking in his earpiece, evinced by the slight crease between his brows. He didn't lower his bow, but something in his expression seemed to shift.

"You're good at what you do," he said finally, "possibly one of the best. How ‘bout you come work with us? On the right side of the law for a change? We get a great benefits package."

He teased, but the offer was obviously serious.

She stared at him, guns still raised, processing.

"Look," he tried again, voice calm, focused, "I read your file, or at least what's actually in there, and you're damn good, but even you won't be able to survive what's coming for you. Too many people gunning for you at this point."

She flinched, just the slightest twitch, but it was enough for him to understand that she understood.

"I'm just saying,” he continued, “out of the few options you have left, S.H.I.E.L.D. is probably your best bet."

It was not a question, it didn't need to be, and now that it _was_ an option she could she that it _was_ her best bet.

"Besides," he started again, "I'd love to see which of us is the better shot."

He smiled, cocksure but friendly, and she found her own lips wanting to twitch up in response.

She didn't allow it, but she did take the moment he was giving her to think.

She _was_ being hunted, and though she had a bolt-hole or two, they weren't enough, not anywhere _near_ enough. She needed something bigger to hide under, something with enough power to keep her alive. Steve and Bucky had no idea what she had been up to for the past few years...at least she assumed they didn't, but regardless, she couldn't involve them. They would stop at nothing to make sure she was safe, protected, and she knew the people she had pissed off would absolutely love their own do-it-yourself manual on 'How to Build the Perfect Soldier'.

So she thought about the offer. She really thought about it. She'd be trading her freedom, gaining a time-card and an earpiece, but what other options did she have?

She lowered her guns slowly with a nod and he lowered his bow, smile spreading if possible even wider. The way his grin crinkled the corners of his eyes might have been one of the most honest things she had seen since she left home.

They were heading for the roof exit when she felt their presence. Agent Barton, or Clint as he asked her to call him, must have as well because they both dropped as one, narrowly avoiding the spray of bullets that exploded into the cement wall behind them.

"What the hell?" she heard Clint yell as they picked themselves up, spinning to follow the trajectory of the bullets back to their origin.

There they were. Both of them. They were moving fast as the shorter of the two ejected an empty clip and loaded a fresh one in a smooth, practiced move. The bright glint of metal flashed from his arm as they moved under a flickering light. They wore masks covering their lower faces, but she would recognize them anywhere; her parents were nothing if not distinctive.

The same could not be said for her, however, and with the current assortment of scarves disguising her distinctive red hair, she knew she was relatively innocuous.

Her heart racing, she grabbed Clint's hand. She was relieved when he only hesitated for an instant before they took off, running across the roof and leaping over to the next one.

"Who are they?" he yelled as they vaulted between another set of rooftops. Unfortunately, before long, there wouldn't be any more rooftops to jump.

The voice in his earpiece must have been saying something again because he managed to crack a wry grin before saying, "I know! It's a fucking shame that they're shooting at us!"

Natalia decided to ignore the one sided conversation as she slid down the ladder of a fire escape, Clint breezing down behind her before they took off down an alley and into a backstreet.

"They're no one we're capable of handling!" she finally called back, glancing up at the roof before pulling Clint down a street to the right, bullets embedding in the corner of the building just where his head had been.

She knew her parents' tactics well enough to understand that if they were firing at all, their goal was to lay waste to everything in their path. Whether they were here for her, for Clint, or to clean up the Croatian gang, she had no idea, nor did she care. All she cared about was the fact that she and Clint would not survive long enough for her to identify herself.

Clint simply pulled ahead with a, "This way," taking the lead as they rounded another corner and bolted towards a bridge up ahead. "Time to catch our ride," he added with a grin. Natasha heard more bullets rebound hard off of a wall to her left, close enough that she felt the air current shift under her arm.

It was deserted in that part of town so the bridge was clear. She didn't hesitate in jumping over the railing with him - she knew she wouldn't escape if it failed anyway. She pulled off her fur coat and tossed it behind her to obscure them for a brief moment as she fired off a couple shots in the wrong direction.

Bullets whizzed through the coat behind them as they dropped and landed on speeding metal. Natasha looked back at the two figures standing side by side on the bridge, getting smaller and smaller as the jet sped away. She set her jaw against the twist of emotion threatening to burble forth and followed Clint inside through a roof hatch.

"Who the hell were they?" Clint asked again once they were both inside. He nodded to a man who stood near the cockpit area. The man looked unassuming, which meant, Natasha knew, that he was far more dangerous than she was meant to believe.

"They have a lot of names. You might have heard them referred to as The Memitim, or Dullahan," she replied calmly, pulling off her scarves and smoothing her wild red curls back. Clint's eyes widened and he let out a low whistle. He looked a little spooked; and more than a little excited.

Steve and Bucky had gained notoriety over the years, a sort of mythology that followed them through the ages. Most in their line of work had heard of the illusive assassins but most also assumed that they were legend, that the kills attributed to them were simply the work of others claiming the name for anonymity. Natasha's hands were shaking.

The unassuming man came over, taking a moment to talk to Clint while she breathed and tried to collect herself. He was quiet when he approached, so stealthier than she thought, as well.

"Ms. Romanoff, my name is Phil Coulson," he said as he held out a hand, "Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D."

Her hands no longer shook as she accepted the handshake, finally letting herself quirk a grin at Clint as he grinned widely at her over Coulson's shoulder.


	23. Chapter 23

**September 4, 2009 ~ Washington, DC.**  
   
Bucky was seated alone at a corner table in the eighties-style diner. He was nursing a cup of coffee, half-listening to the indistinct conversations going on around him.

"You think I’m stupid, Carly? You don’t think I know what’s going on?"

The man caught Bucky's eye and sneered, "What are you looking at, kid?"

Bucky raised an eyebrow but was distracted by the door bell jingling as someone entered. Steve did a quick scan of the diner and, seeing Bucky, made his way over to his table. He exhaled hard as he slid into the booth across from his friend.

"You all right?" Bucky asked, using a spoon to stir yet another sugar pack into his already devastatingly sweet coffee.

Steve snorted, "No, I’m not." He took a deep breathe and leaned forward, "She almost got herself killed this time," he whispered through his teeth.

Bucky nodded, "She knew what she was getting into. And that's why we're here."

"I don't like it."

"You don't have to. But you know as well as I do that Natalia will never accept any help we have to offer unless she thinks it's her idea. _Or_ if she thinks we have no other options." He gave Steve a look, "Wonder which of us she gets that from?"

Steve flushed, "Shut up. Isn't there a more....subtle way of accomplishing this?"

"Nope.” Bucky put his spoon on his mouth and sucked on it obscenely. He grinned when Steve rolled his eyes but he put down the spoon. “We've been through this. We have to attract _attention_. The _right kind_ of attention. Otherwise it's pointless. This is the only way to do it, Stevie."

A burly career waitress hustled up to the table, smiling hurriedly at Steve, "You want something, love? We got a few specials."

"The best item on the menu is the pecan pie, right, Betty?" Bucky winked at the waitress, causing a blush to bloom over her sallow cheeks. She nodded.

"Family recipe."

Steve rolled his eyes at Bucky's never ending flirtation with the entire female gender, "I’ll just have coffee, thanks." She walked away. "You know her? Are we safe here?"

Bucky shrugged, "I've been in a few times before, whenever we're in town. Not like safety will matter in a few minutes, anyway.

The brunette's attention was once again stolen by the squabbling couple at the next table when the girl, Carly, whimpered. Steve too, turned around as she whined, "Ow! Clayton, you’re hurting me."

Clayton caught Bucky's eye again, looking enraged, "You deaf, kid? I told you to mind your own business." To Steve, he added, "Turn around, dick."

Bucky's eyes flashed and he got up. Steve tried to grab at the battered sleeve of his leather jacket but was left clutching at air as Bucky slipped past him and walked over to table.

Carly whispered, "Clayton."

"Oh, here we go," Clayton drawled, obviously enjoying himself.

Bucky nodded to the girl, "Carly."

"What the hell?" Not enjoying himself so much anymore.

Bucky sat down next to Clayton, smiling brightly at the two of them. Clayton was flabbergasted, "You lookin’ to get yourself killed, kid?"

Calmly, Bucky pulled a gun and pressed it under Clayton’s ribs. Carly gasped.

"You haven’t the slightest clue how to speak to a woman, have you? Now, my friend and I are having a very important discussion. So you just sit tight, enjoy your muffin, and if I hear you say anything other than “please” or “thank you” to Carly, I’m gonna drag you into the men’s room and wash your mouth out with soap. And if that doesn’t work, I’ll cut out your filthy tongue with that butter knife. Is that clear enough for you?"

Bucky smiled at Carly and pressed the gun a bit harder than strictly necessary into Clayton's ribs. At the man’s gasp, he stood up, tucking the gun surreptitiously into the waistband of his dark jeans. As he did so, he caught sight of the distinctive red and blue logo of a Metro PD cruiser pulling up outside.

Steve stepped up behind him, following his gaze, "One just pulled up out back as well.” The brunette knocked the brim of his Dodgers baseball cap up a bit higher on his head and grinned.

Stepping back to their table, Bucky reached underneath it, unzipped a black duffle bag, pulled out shotgun, and chambered a round with a practised flick of his arm.

"What are you –" but Steve cut himself off, sounding exasperated but barely surprised by Bucky's choice of weapon.

Customers gasped, one screamed, the door bells jingled. And Bucky fired off a round into the ceiling of the restaurant. More people screamed, and the officers outside immediately began to shout to each other, pulling weapons and crouching behind vehicles.

Not missing a beat, Bucky turned and addressed the people in the restaurant, "Ladies and gentlemen, please remain calm and take your seats."

"Now what?" Steve hissed in his ear.

To Steve, Bucky shrugged, "Now I apologize," to everyone else he announced loudly, "I’m really sorry for this, but it looks like we’re takin’ a long lunch. If you stay calm and do what we say, I promise you’ll leave here with a great little story to tell all your friends."

A siren was wailing in the distance. Behind the counter, a phone started ringing.

"Betty, dear, would you mind answering that? No doubt it’s for me," Bucky asked the waitress sweetly, tilting his head toward the aforementioned device as it rang once again.

Steve sighed and rolled his eyes as the terrified waitress stepped backwards toward the phone. He could just imagine what the officers outside were talking about.

~~~

"What do you got?"

"Cut the power to the building, commandeered the phone lines. Both suspects are still inside."

"Both suspects?"

"Two white males. Armed. Mid-twenties. Unidentified."

"They're standing right in the middle, hostages all around. Can’t get a clear view inside."

"Well, then, let’s find out what they want."

~~~

The waitress plucked the phone from the cradle with trembling hands and Steve took it from her with what he hoped was an apologetic smile. He let his natural accent blend into his speech. It never failed to freak Americans out, so why not?

"Let's make this easy. Do you have a pen? Because I’m ready to dictate a list of our demands."

"Well, hello to you. And who might I be speaking to?"

"The Memitim," Steve rolled his eyes at the ridiculous moniker, "put that out over the radio."

"Is that a radical group? Is that all you want? Cause we can do media."

"No, just the radio. Quite frankly, I want a lot of things. I want to eat a meal in a restaurant without looking over my shoulder. I want to stop taking weapons with me everywhere I go. I want my best friend to STOP WAVING SHOTGUNS IN PEOPLES’ FACES!" He shouted the last part across the diner at Bucky, who had levelled the shotgun casually at Clayton and was making a show of 'accidentally' almost pulling the trigger. The brunette just grinned and shrugged at Steve’s glare.

The officer on the line made some confused noises, "Why don't you two come on out before this goes bad."

"It’s already gone bad, and you’re making it worse. If you want to help these people, do what I’ve asked. Report that The Memitim are here."

"Look, you're not getting out of there. The scene’s locked down. Nowhere to go, and you don't sound like the type of guy to hurt innocent people, so I'm thinking you've got zero leverage."

"You don't know anything," Steve replied, hanging up the phone.

An order was on the counter, and an automated beep sounded, reminding the waitress of the waiting food.   
   
Bucky shouldered the shotgun and sauntered over, waving Betty, who hadn't moved an inch, off. "I'll get that, darlin'. Take a load off."

"The first table over there," she whispered, pointing with a shaky finger. Bucky nodded and whisked the plates over to the waiting, terrified patrons.

When he returned, Steve glared at him, "This is not going to work."

"Stevie, please. Take a seat. Betty'll bring you a piece of pie. I promise you’ll thank me."

"Stop fucking around! Do you really think they'll come? Just from the name? We aren't that well known."

"Yes, we are. And that's not the point. The right people will come because of the name, and because of this." Bucky shrugged out of his leather jacket, revealing the checked Henley he wore underneath. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his metal arm flashed in the early morning sun streaming through the big glass windows. Murmurs broke out amongst the restaurant's patrons despite their obvious distress. Bucky's jaw tightened but he turned, waving with his gleaming hand at the stationed police officers. He turned back to Steve, smirking.

"That outta do it, don't ya think?"

Steve's own pistol was tucked in the back of his pants and at that moment, Clayton lunged out of his booth from behind him and tried to nab it. Steve dropped, sweeping the man's legs out from under him before kneeling on his inner thigh and dropping a big fist into the man's abdomen.

Carly screamed, "No, stop!"

"Stevie!"

Grunting, Steve hit the man once, twice, listening to the pathetic groans of "Uhh! – Stop! – Uhh!" as the blows fell.

"That’s enough!" Bucky yanked hard on Steve's shoulder. Having retrieved his pistol, Steve spun around and pointed it at Bucky. They simply stared at each other, eyes full of dark emotions. Bucky reached for the gun, slowly tugging it from Steve's limp fingers.

Steve was breathing heavily but the red fog surrounding his vision was dissipating. Around him, patrons were murmuring, a woman - Carly - was panting and whimpering. Clayton was groaning and gasping on the floor.

Bucky knelt to do a quick assessment, "You broke his ribs."

Wincing, Steve moved to try to provide assistance but Carly threw up a hand.

"Don't touch him."

Steve backed off, his hands turned out in subjugation, "I didn’t want anybody to get hurt."

Carly laughed derisively, "Really? Seemed to me like you wanted to hurt him pretty bad."

Bucky shook his head, standing over Carly, "He didn’t have a choice. What if he’d gotten the gun? What then, Carly? Do you think any of us would be safer if he were armed? You think you’d be safe?"

The girl's dark eyes flashed with fear but Bucky was done with her. He turned to Steve, "We've got to accelerate our timeline."  
   
As if on cue, Clayton gasped and Carly started screaming, "He– he can’t breathe! Somebody help him!"

Bucky lowered his voice to Steve, "His chest cavity is filling with blood."

Steve nodded, "His lungs are gonna collapse if we don’t get him medical attention in the next 20 to 30 minutes tops."

"Fine. He’ll be in the Metro PD's capable care by then. We’re leaving."

Bucky turned to address the restaurant as a whole, "Attention, everyone. We’re done here, so if you could all be so kind as to gather up your belongings and step into the kitchen. Except you two, obviously." He indicated Carly and Clayton. "You stay right there. Betty, be a doll. Wrap up two slices of that delicious pecan pie?"

~~~  
   
Outside, two black SUVs came squealing up to the front of the diner, thirteen heavily uniformed agents poured out and set up a perimeter around the building. Two agents, a man and a woman in crisp black suits emerged from the passenger sides and made their way over to the officers in charge, who had, until a moment ago, still been bickered about what the correct course of action was.

"Gentlemen," the man said by way of greeting. "I'm Agent Coulson of S.H.I.E.L.D. I understand you have a 9-1-1 call concerning today's events."

"Yessir. We have it here," the first officer to recover answered briskly. He pressed a button on a cell phone and a recording began:

 _9-1-1, what's your emergency?_  
I saw some men get off the bus and go into Pete's Diner on 2nd Street. They had guns!"  
Could you tell me your name, sir?  
My name is...

The recording cut out with a click. Agent Coulson's face didn't reveal anything about what he thought of the recording but he turned to the officer in charge.

"Do not restore power to that building. They won't hurt anyone."

The officer shook his head, "They already have. I can't take the chance, Agent." He held up his radio, "Restore the power."

~~~

There was a loud bang, followed by shouts of, "Let’s go!" "Go, go, go!" as Agents and officers swarmed through the front and back entrances of the building. It was empty save for a young couple on the ground, the man was gasping.

"Kitchen!"

Agents clomped through the restaurant, guns drawn, heads on a swivel, and trekked quickly into the back.

"They’re not here," one of the patrons supplied from where he was sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor. All the customers were crowded into the small space.

Agent Coulson heard the news from outside through the radio. "Hell. Get those people out of there."

The officer in charge's brow furrowed in frustration. "They didn’t just disappear," he muttered to himself, "there’s gotta be a way out." To his officers, he ordered, "Break down every wall if you have to. Find them!"


	24. Chapter 24

The eighty-second precinct was abuzz with the story. Everyone wanted to hear, get a piece of the story from the duty officers who had been at the scene.

The officer in charge, a man named Mike Leavy, walked into the pit and strolled right through the middle of the gossiping officers.

"First of all, I'd like to thank whichever one of you donut munching, barrel-assed dip-shits leaked this to the press. That's just what we need now, some sensational story in the papers making these guys out to be mythical. And let me squash the rumours now. These two aren't special." He rolled his eyes, "They are two ordinary men who pulled an extraordinary feat and just happened to come out on top. Gossiping won't help. Police work will. Nothing from our system has turned up jack shit on these two. All we know is what we found out from the diners."

Some of the cops and homicide detectives shifted nervously.

Someone piped up from by the photocopier, "Are these men considered armed and dangerous?"

Leavy nodded, "Hell, yeah. They didn't do much damage, didn't evens steal anything besides..." he checked his notepad, "two pieces of pecan pie."

The assembled officers chuckled.

"This agency, this S.H.I.E.L.D, took the case over, said these two have been on their radar but wouldn't give us anything else. I say, fuck ‘em. I have no intention of giving this one up."

At the same time, outside the police station, Steve and Bucky walked up the precinct steps. Steve squinted as the afternoon light reflected off Bucky's hand into his eyes.

"You sure about this?"

Bucky nodded, "Too risky to go straight to S.H.I.E.L.D. These guys,” he gestured to the precinct, “won't take us down on sight. But the right people _will_ come."

Steve shrugged, fingers twitching, itching to reach for a gun, a knife, anything to arm himself with. But he didn't. He took a deep breathe and grit his teeth, forcing his legs to keep moving as he followed Bucky through the tall glass door.  
  
Leavy had both his hands up, trying to reassure the assembled officers.

"Look, look! I'm not saying one way or the other. Just be careful and go by the book on this one. We gotta hit the bricks nice and hard. Grunt police work is what's going to bring this one in."

Someone snorted near the back of the room, and the men turned to look at the source.

The officer sneered and said loudly, "These guys are miles away by now."

Steve and Bucky quietly entered the front of the room. All the officers were seated with their backs to them, watching Leavy and the insubordinate officer at the back.

Leavy spotted them first and quickly drew his gun. Slowly, they both raised their hands and Bucky quirked up a brow. A number of other officers, those who had been watching their Captain, turned and drew their weapons as well. The men trained their guns on them even as the loud-mouth officer continued pompously, holding the majority of the room’s attention.

"But if you want to beat your head against a wall, then here's what you look for. These guys are scared like two little bunny rabbits. Anything in a uniform or flashing blue lights will spook them. So the only thing we can do is put a dollar on a string and drag it down Pennsylvania Avenue."

There was light chuckling from the number of still-oblivious men at the joke.

"You'd probably have better luck with a beer," Bucky said loudly, still holding his hands aloft.

Everyone turned and looked. Steve placed the briefcase he was holding on the floor carefully as someone hit a button and an alarm began to blare loudly. As one, they dropped to their knees in the doorway, hands clasped behind their heads, as they were quickly surrounded by officers, weapons trained on them from every direction. Bucky turned his head slightly to grin at Steve.

 _Clockwork_ , he mouthed. Steve just sighed.

~~~

Agent Phil Coulson's phone was ringing.

"Coulson," he answered. He listened for a moment before asking, "When did this happen?"  
   
"Under an hour ago," Agent Maria Hill responded briskly.

"Can we confirm it’s actually them?"

"It’s them all right. Descriptions, however vague, match. And the arm. They even volunteered classified information about a Brussels Mission in ’03."

Coulson frowned, wracking his memory, "What happened in Brussels?"

"Sir? It was the last time we tried to bring them in, sir. I've sent you photo confirmation just now."

Pulling his phone from his ear to take a look at the photo that appeared on the device, Coulson whistled, "It really is them."

"We think so, sir. Came in with a briefcase containing every alias they've ever used. Most of ’em we’ve never even heard of."

"What do they want?"

"Don’t know. They only said Memitim before clamming up. Isn't that the codename they were given back in the seventies, sir?"

Coulson ignored the question, "Assemble a full intel review. Whatever we can get from the NSA, CIA, everyone. Off the books of course."

"What exactly do you want to know, sir?"

"Everything."


	25. Chapter 25

Bucky sat behind the table inside the interview room, his wrists and ankles shackled and chained to a huge bolt block on the floor. He found it amusing when they handcuffed him, seeing as he could break the restraints without a second thought, but these men didn't know that and he saw no harm in playing along if it made them feel more secure. He didn't much feel like getting shot today, that was always a bitch.

The interview room door opened and an officer, the man he understood was in charge of this precinct, entered and dropped a file onto the table, flipping it open. Bucky looked at the first page; a photocopy of one of his own fake passports. He raised an eyebrow, curious as to where this was going.

"One of yours?" Leavy asked.

Bucky said nothing. The two officers at the back of the room shifted uncomfortably.

Leavy pulled the file towards himself, "Curiously, Stuart Danton, it seems that you died in an automobile accident over six years ago. I have to say, you look fantastic."

Bucky grinned, "Thanks." He gestured to the passport, his restraints clinking, "I've been moisturizing since then."

The flippant comment caused a twitch in Leavy's jaw but he kept his temper in check.

"That kid could have died, you know?" He tapped the table top, "The one your buddy was whaling on? He's in the ICU. And from what we got from the witnesses, your friend only hit him twice. Seven broken ribs and a punctured lung from two hits. Curious, isn't it?"

"Curious things happen all the time, Chief."

"No. They don't"

Bucky hesitated. He didn't know what this man was going for, and that unusual lack of certainty unnerved him.

Leavy put a copy of the Washington Post in front of Bucky.

"Have you seen today's paper?"

The headline "ARMED ASSAILANTS VANISH FROM DINER HOLDUP - STILL AT LARGE" was accompanied by a photograph of Steve and Bucky inside the diner, obviously taken by one of the patrons.

Leavy leaned back, seemingly enjoying himself, "See, I was pissed that the story was leaked, but now I'm thinking I should thank whoever did it. See, ways I see, you boys don't care much for the spotlight." His smile widened even as Bucky stared at him blankly, "That's what I thought; you like the shadows. Bet you boys don't even have a record. Clean, clean, clean. But I have this feeling that once we run your fingerprints up the ladder, along with a few of these nifty little aliases you brought us, a whole slew of shit is gonna hit the fan. Am I right?"

Bucky shrugged again, and picked up the newspaper. Instead of reading about his own front page news however, he opened it, turning to the comics. He started to read, taking his time. Leavy flushed and spluttered at the audacity.

Finally, Bucky put the paper down and a broad smile spread across his face - it wasn't friendly.

"Enjoy it."

Leavy blinked, "What?"

Bucky waved a hand around the interview room, "This. Tell me I'm everything you hate, that I'm the worse of the worse, that I'm responsible for the breakdown of society, that I'm a one man genocide. Say anything you want to say to me - because you don't have long."

Leavy turned a strange sort of splotchy purple colour, infuriated by Bucky's casual demeanour.

"Are you not paying attention or are you delusional? You broke the law. You and your partner are going to jail. You each have seventeen different fake IDs in that briefcase of yours. That's ten years, minimum. Not to mention the restaurant stickup and the aggravated assault. You'll spend the next five years going from a cell to a courtroom before you even start doing your time."

Bucky cocked his head, leaning back on his chair and balancing it on its back two legs, the very image of completely unconcerned. This served only to anger his interrogator even more.

"You don't seem to fully appreciate the seriousness of your situation!"

The front legs of the chair hit the ground with a sharp SNAP as Bucky leaned forward, a look of cold distain spreading over his features.

"The most important person in this world to me is chained up in a cell, probably being harassed like I am by another dangling piece of dickweed like yourself. Two days ago, I found out that my daughter, who I haven't even seen in over two years, almost died. And I, instead of going to her like a normal father could, have to go through _this_ fucking song and dance just to make sure she's safe. Trust me, I _fully_ appreciate the seriousness of the situation. But I promise you I won't spend a single second in a courtroom."

"You _are_ delusional," Leavy laughed derisively.

Bucky didn't even blink. He leaned forward to close the deal.

"I actually like you," he paused and glanced at the captain's name tag, "Mike. Well, maybe not, but I understand you. You think your loyalty to your badge might finally be rewarded. But you haven't counted on the people who gave you that badge...or the people who gave them their badges."

It was Leavy's turn to hesitate.

Bucky tilted his head and considered the man for a moment, rolling his tongue over his teeth. Coming to a decision, he said, "Let me tell you what's going to happen so you can prepare yourself."

He nodded to the interview room door.

"Soon, there's going to be a knock on that door and you're going to be called outside. In the hall there will be a man or a woman who outranks you. First, he or she will compliment you on the fine job you've done, how you're making the world a safer place blah, blah, blah, and then he or she is going to tell you that my partner and I are to be released into their custody."

Leavy scoffed and opened his mouth but the look in Bucky's eyes made him close it with a click.

"You're gonna protest, you'll probably threaten to resign. But in the end we _will_ be turned over, and eventually released."

Leavy's eyes burned into Bucky, who simply blinked and glanced at the open newspaper, "The reason we'll be released is the same reason you think we'll be convicted, and you're right. When you ran our fingerprints up the ladder, it _did_ wake up some very interesting people who spend time doing some very interesting things." He tapped a metal finger against the newspaper, "Unfortunately for you, we're interesting to _them_."

The purplish hue of Leavy's face hadn't changed, in fact, he was starting to look vaguely ill.

Bucky sighed, running a chained hand through his hair, "When you find out, _if_ you find out, who we are and what you've managed to get yourself into, you might think we're evil, and you might be right. Unfortunately for you, we are a _necessary_ evil."

When Bucky finished there was a long silence. And then, there was a knock at the door.

Leavy and Bucky exchanged a look and Leavy rose from the table.

"I would tell you to go to hell. But I think you're already there."

Leavy turned on his heel and was at the door when Bucky finally replied, his voice quiet.

"What if I'm not? What if I sleep fine at night? What if I sleep better than you? I think that might be what scares you."

Leavy didn't look back as he exited. Sure enough, he found a primly suited man and woman in the hall, holding up identical badges, just as the brunette had predicted.


	26. Chapter 26

Coulson met Agent Hill outside the entrance of the eighty-second precinct twenty minutes after she called him. She passed him a slim folder stamped with red lettering.

Coulson flipped quickly through the few pages. "This is it?"

Hill nodded, "Everything we have, sir. They're very good at what they do, and for the most part, that seems to involve staying under the radar."

Coulson turned and Hill began to brief him as they walked into the precinct.

"Running the photos through the database only turned up one hit. James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th infantry. MIA and presumed dead in 1942 after his unit was ambushed in Italy. Born March 10, 1917..." She paused and Coulson stopped walking as she did, "Sorry, sir. I don't quite follow. This can't be the same man can it? He would be 92 years old. The man in holding can't be more than 25, sir."

Coulson's expression gave nothing away, he tapped the file and started to walk again, "What have we got on the other one?"

Hill swallowed, "Nothing, sir. He's a ghost. There is a reference in a file from 1963 of a blonde man fitting his general description who was seen on the Grassy Knoll in Dallas... just a witness statement, the woman was standing beside him and said he took off running when the shots started. That's all we have."

Coulson showed a badge to the officer stationed in the main hallway and the man nodded, speaking into his radio. A moment later, another officer appeared and led them deeper into the building.

Agent Hill bent her head and spoke quietly to Coulson, "Sir, I have been a part of Operation Dullahan for two years. We've never had much, just that the targets are internationally active, highly dangerous and have no known affiliation, national or otherwise."

Coulson didn't respond as they turned a corner and found themselves facing a large two-way mirror. A man with short blonde hair sat at a table, flanked by two officers. His wrists were shackled, a chain leading down through a hole in the table connected to the shackles around his ankles. He was big, and they could see thickly corded muscles twitching and pulsing under his pale skin. He was leaning forward onto the table, his right hand propping up his chin. His shockingly blue eyes flitted back and forth between the men stationed in the room and the door on the far wall. Other than the set of his jaw, he looked almost comfortable.

"Where's the other one?" Coulson asked their guiding officer. The man jerked his thumb over his shoulder at a closed door.

"We separated them. My captain's in talking to the other one." The man hesitated, obliviously itching to ask, but Coulson held up a hand.

"Save it, son. It's classified. If you could retrieve your captain, we'll take it from here."

The man looked doubtful. He was obviously uncomfortable with the departure from protocol but was smart enough to see that he was laughably outranked.

He nodded, walked over to the closed door and knocked.


	27. Chapter 27

"Evidently someone with the authority to make decisions has arrived," the brunette's voice filtered through the grainy speakers. "I think I smell your cologne, Agent Coulson. Smells like hubris," he grinned up at the camera’s red light blinking down at him. He was leaning so far back in his chair that it was a wonder he hadn't toppled to the ground.

Coulson stood before a bank of monitors that showed video feeds from all over the precinct. His attention was focused on the two showing the interview rooms. He was having trouble believing he was actually looking at who he was looking at.

The Memitim, the duo of deadly assassins, had been on his team's radar for as long as he had been with S.H.I.E.L.D. Completely illusive, they were credited with over two dozen kills since the early 1960s. The count was just an estimate however, since the two never left a trace and their kills were almost always declared results of natural causes or sometimes accidents. Because of this, many believed that their actual body count could be much higher.

Coulson's team had tried to monitor their movements, track their kills over the years, even once or twice attempted to capture the men, but they had no success. The closest any member of his team had gotten to the duo had been back in '98 when Barton had been sent with the directive to recruit or kill Natasha Romanoff. The young woman had become known to them after she had rescued fourteen Somalian children who were in the process of being transferred and sold into slavery. Through her work, she had stepped on a few too many toes and was clearly running out of options when Coulson had green-lit Barton's operation to bring her in. Since then, she had been an invaluable, if evasive, member of his team, slipping into a partnership with Barton that was as deadly as it was effective.

But they'd never come close to capturing The Memitim. Looking down at the slim folder in his hands, Coulson wasn't exactly surprised when the only thing that they _thought_ they knew about them was the improbable connection to James Barnes.

Coulson was jerked out of his musings by the sound of the brunette's voice once again, "You gotta have questions, so why don't we get the ball rollin'?"

He linked his shackled hands behind his head and smirked up at the camera, "Do you remember the 1986 attack of the U.S. Embassy in Damascus? The abduction of the six foreign nationals from the French consulate in Algiers in '97? Or the 2002 breach of the Krungthai Bank in Bangkok? Let me save you the trouble, you don't. Know why? Cause they didn't happen. We stopped ‘em. We've been working for your team for a long time without you knowing and we think it's about time that we hitched our flags to the same pole."

Coulson looked to Agent Hill, "Can you confirm all that?" She nodded, already nose deep in a tablet she had pulled from her bag.

"I'll give you a few minutes to check on that information but in the meantime, we can chat about somethin’ else. Just so you know, we know who you are. You've heard of us, have some idea of what we do, but we know everything about you."

For the first time, and almost as if he could hear his partner speaking, the blonde man spoke, "Agent Phillip Coulson, born July 8, 1964 in Mantiowoc, Wisconsin. Mother Julie, father Robert. Second-in-command of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division aka S.H.I.E.L.D. Reports to Nicolas Fury. Primary operative for the Avengers Initiative, a team of highly trained and skilled operatives that work as an emergency response team in the event of extreme global threat. Current members of the Initiative include Sam Wilson, Bruce Banner, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, James Rhodes, Tony Stark, Clint Barton, and Natasha Romanoff. Code names Falcon, Hulk, Scarlett Witch, Quicksilver, War Machine, Iron Man, Hawkeye and Black Widow, respectively."

The brunette's grin widened, "We want in."

Coulson pressed a button on the speaker that would allow him to speak to the men, "Why should my team, or the U.S government for that matter, trust you?"

The brunette shrugged, "You shouldn't. You shouldn't trust anyone. But we could have stayed free, out of sight, out of mind, forever if we wanted to, but we chose to come in. Not to mention that we could provide your government with..." he tapped a metal finger against his chin, feigning deep thought, "243 answers to cases from all over the world that happen to be inaccurately documented at the moment. We have names, dates, cities, countries, number of deceased, operational tactics, weapons, etcetera, etcetera. My partner is rather Type A and he really likes his files. Plus," he smiled, "we're better than anyone else you currently have on your team and we already _know_ you like to give second chances."

Agent Hill tapped Coulson on the shoulder, "Sir, I've confirmed what he said about the attacks. In 1986, a group of radicals were found dead in an apartment not far from the U.S. Embassy in Damascus. They had enough explosive ordinance to take out a city block and detailed blueprints of the Embassy. In 1997, six French foreign nationals were abducted from their consulate for a total of sixty-three seconds before the kidnappers were sidelined and killed. None of the nationals were hurt. Finally, in 2002, a group of robbers attempted to breach the Krungthai Bank in Bangkok but only got as far as the front door before they all dropped dead on the sidewalk. Single gunshot wounds to the head. No one even heard the shots."

Coulson sighed and pushed the button to speak again, "You have my attention."

"Confirmed what I said, did ya?" The brunette looked like he was having the time of his life and it irritated Coulson like nothing else. However, he definitely needed to hear what they had to say.

"Yes. Fine work. A few more bodies than I would normally condone, however."

A shrug, "Yea, but who the fuck cares? If you have an infestation, you don't let the rats take over, you hire an exterminator. That's all we are. Now, we'll give you the information you want, but first –"

Coulson cut him off, "No “but firsts.” You don’t decide anything."

The blonde man finally looked up at the camera, his blue eyes sharp. A slight accent bled into his voice as he spoke, "Agent Coulson, you’ve overestimated your authority. We have said we will help you, and we will. But from this point forward, there are two very important rules: one," he waved a hand at the wall separating him from his partner, "we need to be in the same room, and two, we want to speak to the woman who calls herself Natasha Romanoff."

As one, the two men looked away from the cameras, the conversation clearly over. Turning away from the monitors, Coulson raised his phone to his ear, pressing a single key as he did so.


	28. Chapter 28

In the outskirts of a small Russian town, near the railroad, there was a building under construction. On the third floor of the building was Georgi Luchkov, a Russian General, and his thugs. One of the thugs, a tall man, was in the process of beating a petite red headed woman who was tied to a chair.

He backhanded her hard enough to knock her head around. Though she clearly felt the pain, she flipped her curls casually off her face and rolled her neck.

Luchkov, smiling, walked up to her.

"Я не хотел, чтобы этот вечер прошел."  
*This is not how I wanted the evening to go.*

Natasha Romanoff sneered, "Я знаю как вы хотели сегодня вечером. Поверьте мне, это лучше."  
*I know how you wanted this evening to go. Believe me, this is better.*

"Я хотел бы знать, почему они направили вам для выполнения этих случайных элементов."  
*I'd like to know why they sent you to carry out these random tasks*

The tall thug rocked her chair back, balancing her off the edge of an open elevator shaft. Her eyes betrayed her fear as her stockinged toes scrambled for purchase against the dusty floor.

She frowned, looking back and forth between her tormentors, "Я думал Генеральной Soholob в экспорт бизнес."  
*I thought General Soholob was in charge of the export business.*

"Soholob?" He laughed. "Знаменитых черных вдов. Но ничто не довольно." His goons smirked.  
*Soholob?   
The famous Black Widow. Nothing but a pretty face.*

"Вы думаете я уверен?"  
*You really think I'm pretty?*

The tall thug grabbed ahold of her hair and jaw, forcing her mouth open wide as Luchkov slowly walked over to a table filled with tools. He picked up a pair of pliers as he spoke, "Мы не нуждаются в Лермонтова для передачи оборудования. Скажите ему, а также,...  
*We do not need Lermontov to transfer the equipment. Tell him, well,...

He glanced over to her, opening and closing the pliers, and smiled, "You may have to write it down."

She panted and struggled against the thug holding onto her when suddenly, the other thug's cell phone rang. Confused, the man answered, "Да?" He looked over to Luchkov, "Это для вас."  
*Yes?  
It's for you*

Luchkov threw the pliers down on the table and snatched the phone.

"На прошлой неделе..."  
*Who the hell is...*

"You're at 114 Solenski Plaza, 3rd floor. We have an F22 exactly 8 miles out. Put the woman on the phone or I will blow up the block before you can make the lobby," Coulson interrupted the man.

Shocked, Luchkov stepped forward and placed the cell phone between Natasha's ear and shoulder.

"We need you to come in," Coulson told her.

"Are you kidding? I'm working!"

"This takes precedence.'

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation and this moron," she glanced up at Luchkov, "is giving me everything."

Luchkov tucked his hands in his pockets, looking back and forth between Natasha and his tall thug, "I didn't...give everything."

Natasha gave him a look, "Look, you can't pull me out of this right now."

"Natasha," Coulson sighed, "We have The Memitim."

She froze, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She thought for a long moment, "Let me put you on hold."

She nodded to Luchkov and as he came in to take the phone off her, she kicked him hard in the shin and head-butted him. Standing up quickly, she kicked the smaller thug in the groin, knocking him down. The tall one swung at her, she ducked, and swung the chair, still tied to her, around to whack him with it. The small man stood back up, but still tied, she rolled over top of the chair and used the momentum to back up against him, sitting down hard with one chair leg on top of his foot, pinning him in place before throwing her head back and breaking his nose.  
  
She stood and used the chair to kick the taller man’s legs out from under him before using his body as leverage to jump and flip, coming down hard on the smaller one and breaking the chair into kindling. The tall one stood as well so she swung up and ran, giving herself the momentum to jump, wrap her legs around his neck to flip around and smash him into the ground, knocking him out cold.

Luchkov, slightly recovered, grunted and pushed himself to husband hands and knees. Natasha grabbed ahold of a hanging chain and, wrapping it around his leg securely, pushed him down the open elevator shaft, leaving him to dangle.

She picked up the dropped phone as well as her discarded high heels.

"Where are you?"

"At the eighty-second precinct in D.C. They have them in holding. They turned themselves in."

"Why?"

"They say they want to help. I'll brief you on everything when you get back. One of their conditions was that you be present as soon as possible."

Natasha rolled her eyes, "дерьмо́."  
*Shit*


	29. Chapter 29

The door slammed closed behind her as Natasha shoved her way into the building. Police officers parted five feet in front of her, attempting to avoid from the wrath of the clearly furious redhead.

She pushed her way through three more doors, nearly slamming one of them into a petite female officer on the other side, before finally emerging into a briefing room with a long meeting table poised in the centre. It was empty save for Agent Coulson, who sat at the far end surrounded by printed photographs, files and notes. He stood up from his chair when she entered.

"Where are they?"

"Do you have any idea why they asked for you?'" Coulson asked, ignoring her question.

Natasha shook her head as Coulson examined her. She met his gaze, unconcerned. She was an expert at concealing her thoughts and emotions, Steve and Bucky had made sure of that.

Finding something apparently satisfactory in her expression, Coulson nodded and turned for the door.

"They haven't said much. Gave us some information on a few attacks they have foiled over the years and offered information on every operation they have ever undergone. They’e also proved to possess a surprising amount of information about S.H.I.E.L.D and the Avengers Initiative in particular. At this point, we aren't certain whether they are just that good, or have someone on the inside."

"No one on our team would provide information to outsiders," she replied, and meant it. Her team members were extremely cautious and paranoid. Not to mention that in this case, if anyone was a leak, it would be her, and regardless of how much she loved her parents, she had never even informed them of that fact that she was working with S.H.I.E.L.D.

Coulson led her through a door and into an observation room. One wall was filled by a bank of monitors showing security footage and another was made up entirely of a two-way mirror that looked into a small interview room.

Steve and Bucky sat together on one side of the table. Bucky had the hood of his sweatshirt pulled down over his eyes, his arms crossed on top of the desk with his head resting on them. Sitting there, anyone watching would think he was asleep, but Natasha knew better. She could see the tense set of his shoulders and the almost imperceptible way his jaw clenched periodically.

Steve, on the other hand, was wearing his heart on his sleeve like always, levelling a steady glare at the mirror across from him. He was picking idly at a thin scratch on the tabletop, his right hand resting next to Bucky's slumped form. Every so often, his pinky finger would twitch and make contact with a sliver of exposed metal skin where Bucky's sleeve had run up.

Natasha kept her expression neutral, looking to Coulson for confirmation. The man simply nodded and waved her through. She paused with a hand on the door handle, turning to look back at her boss.

"No recordings?" she asked. “I was never here.”

Coulson quirked an eyebrow and gave her a look. Grinning, she pushed through the door separating her from her parents.

A barely-there spark lit up Steve's eyes for a second as she entered the room, but other than that, they had no reaction; Bucky didn't even sit up.

"Woher wusstest du das?" Natasha wasted no time as she settled across from them, folding her hands delicately on top of the table. Steve’s eyes flicked momentarily to the camera still blinking down at them. She shook her head minutely, letting him know they were safe to talk.  
*How did you know?

Steve relaxed and grinned, a shadow she hadn't realized had been there sliding off his face.

"Давай. Это то, что мы делаем? Вы думали, что мы скроем глаза? Меня можно оскорбить."  
*Come one. This is what we do. Did you think we wouldn't watch you? I might be offended.*

Bucky pushed himself up to his elbows, his hood still obscuring his face from the camera and the watching Agents. His dark hair was longer than she had last seen it, curling out from under his ears. He grinned at her, eyes full of warmth, and winked. She forced herself not to react.

"Hur upprörd är agenterna?" he asked, eyes still full of delight.  
*How upset are the Agents?*

"Mycket. Coulson är redo att explodera." She paused, faking a scowl and head shake for the sake of their audience. "Så jag är här. Kommer du att förklara?"  
*Very. Coulson is ready to explode.   
So, I'm here. Will you explain?*

She wanted so badly to give them both a good whack upside the head but didn't dare under her boss' watchful gaze. She settled for clenching her fingers until her knuckles cracked, something she knew both her parents disliked. Bucky just rolled his eyes.

"Դուք գրեթե մահացել է, մեղր," Steve's eyes were sad as he said it.   
*You almost died, honey.*

Natasha sighed. She figured this had something to do with Serbia. "Ale já ne. Barton mě ochránil. Jako vždy."  
*But I didn't. Barton had my back. As always.*

Bucky snorted, "Ne jako my." He leaned back in his chair, grey eyes regarding her carefully before he switched back to German. "Wir wollen dir helfen."  
*Not like us.   
We want to help.*

His intense gaze softened and he grinned roguishly, "Auch, Steve vermisst dich zu sehr."  
*Also, Steve misses you too much.

Natasha raised an eyebrow as Steve jabbed his partner in the ribs with an elbow. Bucky winced, "Ой! Мы слишком скучаем по тебе!"  
*Ow! We miss you too much!

Steve smirked at Bucky's petulant pout before turning back to Natasha, sobering, "Dva roky jsou příliš dlouhé."  
*Two years is too long, Natalia.*

"Natasha. Jag är nu Natasha Romanoff. Ett ryskt namn gjorde det svårt att få folk på min goda sida i Amerika."  
*Natasha. I am now Natasha Romanoff. A Russian name made it hard to get people on my good side in America.*

Steve nodded, "мы знаем. Но ты всегда будешь Наталией для нас."  
*We know. But you will always be Natalia for us.*

Switching back to English, Bucky slapped the table and said, "Look, it's simple as this: We don't want to run anymore but we want to help somehow. Your team helps….effectively."

"Even if we agree, we tend to try to avoid unnecessary murder, something you seem to have trouble with," she informed them truthfully.

Steve shrugged, "We only kill because our targets won't get the punishment they deserve from the system: they'll disappear from prison or grease some palms and never even see a day behind bars. S.H.I.E.L.D isn't like the government. You operate differently. Your Kiln can actually hold these assholes." Steve directed the comments not to Natasha but to the mirror, behind which he knew her boss was watching.

Bucky nodded, "We want be released into the custody of S.H.I.E.L.D. Restricted freedoms, tracking chips, whatever we need to do to prove you can trust us." He looked back at Natasha and switched back to Swedish, "Så länge vi kan vara runt dig."  
*As long as we can be around you.*

Natasha knew that once these men had their minds made up about something, there was generally no talking them down. Besides, she really didn't see any way out of this for either of them except for the deal they were suggesting. It made her ears heat up when they manipulated her like this.

She sighed, switching back to German, "Was sagst du ihnen? Über dich? Über mich?"  
*What will you say to them? About you? About me?*

"Tikai to, ko viņi ir jāzina. Galvenokārt mums. Mēs redzam, nav nepieciešams, lai pastāstītu viņiem kaut ko, kas jums nav," Steve nodded, playing up the conversation for the cameras.  
*Just what they need to know. Mostly about us. We see no need to tell them anything that you haven't.*

Natasha nodded and looked up at the camera, giving another slight nod to Coulson. She pulled a pen and pad of paper from her bag by her feet. "Gut. Jetzt müssen wir sie denken, dass du mir deine Geschichte erzählst. Ich stelle Fragen, wie du gehst?" She phrased the last as a question.  
*Good. Now we need them to think you're telling me your story. I will ask questions as you go.*

"Berätta allt. Allt du vet," Steve replied, laughing derisively for effect.   
*Tell them everything. Everything you know.*

Bucky nodded, "Особенно о моей рукa," he waved his right hand at the aforementioned appendage, "Они явно заинтересованы."   
*Especially about my arm.   
They are clearly interested.*

Natasha nodded, ducking her head to write, "Filen har spekulation. De har verkligen ingen aning om vad du är."  
*The file is speculation. They really have no idea what you are.*

Steve smiled, a little sadly, "Tun wir?"  
*Do we?*

With that, both men made a show of shifting uncomfortably, looking to each for confirmation, and whispering under their breath before finally starting in. They rambled on, switching between German, Swedish, Armenian, Latvian, Russian, Croatian, Czech and Norwegian as they explained, in vivid detail and with varying levels of enthusiasm and volume, the entire plot of Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. Interjecting every once in a while with a question about an actor or a directorial choice, Natasha wrote down everything they had ever told her about their lives.


	30. Chapter 30

An hour later, Natasha pushed back through the door to find herself confronted immediately by Coulson. Without a flicker of emotion, he crooked a finger and led her down the hall into a small office, shutting the door behind her and walking to the desk.

She sighed when he turned and she saw the expression on his face. “I know. They know everything about me, including what languages I speak. They said right away that if I didn't respond in kind, they wouldn't talk at all.”

“I want a full transcript of that conversation inside an hour. For now, the highlights.”

Natasha flipped open her notes and started reading:

“James Buchanan Barnes, born March 10, 1917. He was a sniper with the 107th US infantry.”

“The other is Stephan Roeder, born July 4, 1918. He’s German and was a civilian during the war. Both were experimented on excessively after they were imprisoned by the Nazis. They do not know who was responsible, they call him The Doctor. They also say that they killed him.”

Coulson’s eyebrows rose a fraction of an inch and Natasha fought the urge to laugh. It was the strongest reaction she had ever seen from her boss. She nodded once and continued, “The Doctor made enormous changes to their physiology - they were spotty on the details and no, before you ask, I doubt you could get a whole lot more than I did. What they did say was that the experiments were the direct cause of their extended life; neither of them has aged since 1942.

“The long and the short of it is that after they escaped, they decided to become humanity’s exterminators. Their kill list includes Adolf Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Adolf Eichmann, Pol Pot and many, many more. They also say that they killed the second shooter on the grassy knoll in Dallas in 1963 and have averted numerous acts of terrorism, assassinations, and possibly even wars throughout the years.”

Coulson was now sitting on the edge of the desk, arms crossed. His eyes flickered slightly as he processed what she told him.

“For years, they’ve seen this as their eternal calling since they don't think they can actually die - comments like this make me think that they both might have been rather religious at some point, but their faith seems to have faded.”

Natasha handed her boss the notepad and stepped back as he began to scan it for himself. “Sir, they are willing to hand over every file on every operation they've ever completed, dating all the way back to Hitler in 1945.”

Coulson purses his lips at the notepad, not raising his gaze, “And what do they want?”

“Immunity from prosecution. Apparently they’ve stayed off the radar for so long because they were convinced that the governments of the world would lock them up as either prisoners or lab rats.”

“They’re not wrong,” Coulson murmured, flipping through the pages slowly.

Natasha nodded, “But they think that the world has gotten to a place where they don't have to hide. They think S.H.I.E.L.D is different, and powerful enough to make sure they stay free and safe. They want to work with the Initiative, help us, and they're willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen.”

Coulson set the notepad down, squinting at the grey wall over Natasha’s left shoulder. The silence stretched on and on. Finally, he released a breath and straightened up.

“I'll make some calls. You are not to enter that room again, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied as she followed him out of the office. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her mind was racing. She knew that look on Coulson’s face; it was the one he got whenever he wanted something very badly, when he decided he would do anything to achieve it. After almost 70 years, it looked like Steve and Bucky would finally have their freedom.


	31. Epilogue

“Bucky!” Steve’s irritated voice carried through their rooms to where Bucky lay, flipping through channels on the couch. He sat up, curious.

“Yeah, Stevie?”

The flustered blonde stomped into the living room, throwing his arms out to both sides. Bucky stared at him for a long moment before dissolving into hysterical laughter.

Steve glared at him, “It’s not funny.”

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said, holding himself up by the arm of the sofa and wiping tears of mirth from his eyes, “but I beg to disagree.” He took a moment to compose himself before straightening to assess his partner.

Steve was wearing the uniform that S.H.I.E.L.D had issued him for use during missions. While Bucky had been issued a plain black combat uniform not dissimilar to the outfit he used to wear on their missions, Steve's was more…colourful. His lower half was clad in dark blue tactical pants and combat boots; fine, albeit quite tight. His upper half, however, was what had driven Bucky to tears. The long sleeved top was the same dark blue, but had heavy red and white reinforcement around the abdomen and upper arms. A huge white star was emblazoned over Steve's chest and his head was covered by a blue cowl with a large A on the forehead. He was carrying a huge red, white and blue shield that was similarly adorned with a big white central star. He looked like the American flag had thrown up on him.

Bucky took a moment to look Steve up and down, grinning the whole time, before he finally met his love’s furious blue eyes, “God bless America.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is complete on my computer. I will post one chapter a week on Friday unless people ask for more. Please comment! I love getting stars and stairs (my teacher brain is showing there) so let me know what you think!


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